Who Do We Mourn First? The Answer Says More Than We Think

I almost let this one go. Almost let myself off the hook.

But if I say I believe in intersectionality—not just as a concept, but as a practice—then I have to apply it here, too.

When I Spoke Up Instantly—and When I Hesitated

When news broke about Nex Benedict, I posted almost immediately. No hesitation. The grief, the rage, the deep ache of knowing another trans kid was gone because the world refused to protect them.

I thought about Matthew Shepard. About how these moments—these tragedies—become rallying cries. I moved without thinking twice.

And then, I saw the news about Sam Nordquist.

And I didn’t post. I hesitated. I watched. I let the weight of the story settle before deciding whether to say something.

And I have to ask myself why.

What Race Has to Do With It

Sam Nordquist was a Black trans man. Nex Benedict was a white-passing Indigenous kid.

That distinction matters. Not because one life is more important than the other—but because whiteness shapes who we instinctively protect, who we rally for first, and who we hesitate on.

I could tell myself it was just about timing. That I was exhausted. That this has been one of my hardest weeks in parenting and life yet.

And it has.

I’m a trans guy. My wife is an academic navigating the hellscape of NIH funding being gutted since January 20th. Our kid had her first ear infection. We’re both sick. This week has been an absolute mess.

And yet… if I’m being real with myself, I know that I didn’t have those same hesitations with Nex. I moved without questioning. And I might’ve found a way to do so even in the midst of an identically rough week for myself as a human.

That’s what I have to sit with.

Because it’s not just me. It’s the way our movements—our instincts—are shaped by the world we live in. A world that conditions us, even those of us with the best intentions, to prioritize whiteness.

And if we don’t actively challenge that, then we’re missing the point of this fight entirely.

Intersectionality Is Not a Purity Test—It’s a Strength

I want to be clear: this isn’t about shame.

Shame keeps us stuck. Shame makes us defensive. Shame stops us from doing the work we actually need to do.

And the work is not about calling people out—it’s about calling ourselves in.

I’m not interested in an activism that demands perfection, where we’re waiting for someone to slip up just to prove they weren’t as “pure” as they claimed. That’s not how we win. That’s how we fracture.

But when we embrace intersectionality—when we actively expand who we rally for first, who we hold at the center of our advocacy—we don’t weaken movements, we strengthen them.

We build broader, deeper coalitions. We learn to hold multiple truths at once. We stop falling for the lie that justice is a zero-sum game.

I want a trans liberation movement that fights for all of us—not just some of us. And if I find myself moving faster for white trans people than I do for Black trans people, then I want to notice it. And I want to do better.

How We Show Up Now

So this is me, naming it. Owning it. And committing—not to guilt, not to shame—but to action.

Because if my advocacy isn’t actively challenging the ways race shapes whose lives we mourn first, then it’s not the kind of advocacy I want to be doing at all.

And right now, there’s a tangible way to show up for Sam Nordquist.

Their family and loved ones need support—please consider donating or sharing their GoFundMe:

➡️ Urgent Help to Support the Family of Sam Nordquist

Let’s do better. Together.