Remembering queer lives lost to hate

Contrary to Donald J. Trump and MAGA lore, there is no evidence letting transgender people use public facilities that align with their gender identity increases safety risks. There are no recorded incidents of a drag queen story hour resulting in child molestation; the church, on the other hand, has a different record.

How did we get here?

Queer people and particularly transwomen of color are four times more likely to be victims of violent crime than cis people. Queer people have existed since the dawn of civilization in some form or another. Yet our histories have been erased or hidden in service to the colonialist, patriarchal view that celebrates capitalism, conquest, and empire. As a queer artist with a research-based practice, my recent project, Insufficient Memory, taught mesomething about this.

Insufficient Memory is a work of art that focuses on queer histories from the crucial years between 1999 and 2000. This slice of time was a period of great upheaval for queer people in the United States: Matthew Shepard had just been brutally murdered in Wyoming. President Bill Clinton's 1999 State of the Union address called for updating the Hate Crimes Act to include lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people. From 1999 to 2000, the 106th Congress debated while queer people continued to die.

Courtesy Sean Fader

At the same time, the Sony Digital Mavica Camera's release brought forth a new era in digital image making. This groundbreaking technology, capturing images at a mere ⅓-of-a-megapixel onto 3.5-inch floppy disks, symbolized progress in the digital realm. In 2018, I discovered a Mavica camera in storage the same day I was reading excerpts of congressional debates, which included names of queer people murdered during the period when the Mavica was introduced. I had never heard these names before and found nothing in a cursory internet search.

I spent the following 18 months researching digital archives, excavating hate crimes stories from 1999-2000. I chose to examine only digital spaces because these events represent a critical juncture in our access to information, and seeing what little I could find on most of these people's lives speaks volumes. This period not only marked advancements like digital camera advancements and the early Internet but also underscored the challenge of preserving queer histories, which often face erasure due to lack of funding and technical support. Today, the reality is that many queer stories still remain obscured because printed historical periodicals and archives still go undigitized, rendering them inaccessible.

Courtesy Sean Fader

In the summer of 2019, I drove 25,000 miles to 38 states to photograph significant locations tied to each hate crime murder I found from 20 years prior. Using the antiquated Mavica, I captured images characterized by a deliberate lack of resolution and digital clarity, contrasting sharply with today's digital photographic capabilities. While Shepard's murder garnered widespread attention, I sought to illuminate stories of those overshadowed by his legacy: They include victims of heinous crimes occurring amidst congressional debates over LGBTQ+ inclusion in hate crimes legislation.

It's hard for me to speak (or write) about this work without tearing up. Bearing witness to these stories and spaces digs into your body. I will never forget arriving at the first location: It was a small development of apartments outside of Dallas. The second I got out of my car, my stomach turned. It was an emotion I had never felt before, a combination of deep fear for my safety and incredible loss.

My brain was telling me to run, that this space wasn't safe for me, that someone would know why I was taking a photograph and murder me, too. I also could see the hate crime victim lying dead in front of me, and they felt like an old friend. Every photograph I made on that trip was made when I could see the victim before me. These layers of the past scarred the present using technology from a bygone period.

Courtesy Sean Fader

Finding all but one location unmarked, I began bringing flowers and ultimately realized how important it is to create community-healing spaces. For the two years I worked on Insufficient Memory, I asked: How is a community shaped by visibility, by sharing stories and self? How is memory performed for ourselves and for larger histories?

With all the information I could find, Insufficient Memory emerged as a Google Earth interactive tour cataloging locations, photographs, and victims' stories. Now featured in The Brooklyn Artists Exhibition, the Brooklyn Museum's 200th-anniversary show, the tour is publicly

available online and allows anyone to virtually travel across the country, view the photographs from each site and learn the stories of each of these murdered queer people.

From Billy Jack Gaither to Lauryn Paige to JR Warren, say their names.

Courtesy Sean Fader

Insufficient Memory reflects upon the limited capacities of the digital archive, an attempt to rectify and remember gaps in queer history. Digitized histories continue to be dominated by narratives that uphold the historical power of the few, leaving out entire communities, histories, and experiences. Doing so hinders our collective ability to remember, learn, and heal.

This is why it is vital to memorialize queer lives lost to hate.

Sean Fader is an assistant professor at New York University's Tisch School of the Arts in the Department of Photography and Imaging and a Public Voices Fellow. His team invites researchers, activists, community members, philanthropists, and anyone who lost a loved one to reach out to work on placing site markers in their communities. QueerMemorials@gmail.com

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