Remarks by Rick Partridge (he/him)

Good afternoon,

I am Rick Partridge, Board Chair of Nevada County Pride and Board Member of Color Me Human, and it’s an honor to be able to speak with you briefly today. Our organizations are proud to be sponsors of this beautiful gathering. And I want to give a HUGE thank you to the organizing committee for your hard work and dedication to our community, particularly to Callum, who served on both of the boards, and Nicole, who is currently on the Pride Board. And thanks to UUCM for hosting this event for many years.

Thank you for gathering here on Transgender Day of Remembrance, a day when we come together to honor and remember the transgender lives lost to violence, hatred, and discrimination. We pause today to remember each name, each life, and to recognize the irreplaceable people taken from our communities far too early. Now more than ever, we need to come together to support the most vulnerable members of our LGBTQ+ community based on the results of our country’s decision 10 days ago. Like many of you, the past week has been hard. I have personally cycled through a variety of emotions - from fear and anxiety to anger and numbness.

Yet, amid all the challenges the next 4 years may bring, I believe there is hope. Just last week, we also witnessed the election of the first transgender member of Congress, Sarah McBride, in Delaware, with 58% of the vote. I was moved to tears when listening to an interview she did with NPR when she said:

“And so I have to believe that if we do what every previous generation of Americans have done before us, if we continue to summon our hope, we will make this moment what an advocate I know once called a slingshot moment, where, yes, we are pulled backward, but the pressure and tension of being pulled backwards ultimately propels us to destinations that we've never been before. And I believe this can be that kind of moment.”

I believe that too. And at the local level I also have hope. I have had the privilege to facilitate the monthly Rainbow Social at Bright Futures for Youth, where young people in our community from age 13-18, many of them who identify as non-binary or trans, get the support they need to feel safe as their authentic selves.  This important work must continue to protect and support this next generation.

So, in the spirit of hope and solidarity, let’s commit to taking action. Let’s push back against discrimination and bigotry whenever we encounter it. Let’s ensure that our laws reflect our values of equality and respect. And let’s teach future generations that everyone deserves love and acceptance, regardless of their gender identity or sexual orientation.

I’m certain that the other speakers that you will hear this afternoon will bring their words of support and inspiration too. Let us carry this hope forward together, inspired by the memory of those we’ve lost. May we work tirelessly to build a safer, more loving United States—and Nevada County - one where everyone can live freely and authentically, without fear. Thank you. 

Remarks by Mikaela Melendez (she/her)

Honoring the Struggle, Building the Future: A Call for Unity and Action

Today, we gather to honor those who came before us—those who lived in a world that rejected their very existence. A world that was hostile to their nature, to their love, to their expression. A world shaped by rigid conventions, suffocating religious strictures, and a culture of fear that too often expressed itself in violence.

Many of our Sisters and Brothers, in their pain, saw no way forward but to take their own lives. Others were forced to hide in the shadows, to erase themselves just to survive. And when they could no longer stay silent, when they dared to step out into the light, they were met with cruelty, mockery, and violence. They were objects of ridicule, cast as abominations, reduced to the punchline of a joke, or worse—punished with their lives for daring to be who they were.

This isn’t a dramatization. This isn’t hyperbole. This is our history. This is the truth. The lives of so many were taken—violently, with intention—because they refused to conform to a world that demanded they remain invisible.

But from the depths of that suffering, something incredible was born. We stand here today because of the courage and resilience of those who fought for their right to be seen and heard, even when that meant risking everything. And we owe them so much. Because of their sacrifices, because of their fight, we have made great strides in the last 55 years. The Stonewall Riots in 1969 were a turning point —a signal to the world that we, as queer people, would no longer be silenced, that we were human, deserving of respect, dignity, and the same rights as anyone else.

And yet, here we are, facing what may be the greatest threat to our progress in decades. The same forces that seek to strip away our rights—the rights of trans people, of gay and lesbian individuals, of queer folks, women, and people of color—are rising again. These forces of hate and fear, these forces of fascism, want to drag us back into the darkness, to erase the hard-won progress of the last half-century.

But we are not powerless. In this moment of uncertainty, we have an opportunity—a powerful opportunity to unite, to recognize the common threads of our struggles, and to build solidarity in ways that will strengthen all of us. This is where intersectionality comes in. Intersectionality is the understanding that the struggles we face are not isolated. The fight for queer rights, the fight for women’s rights, the fight against white supremacy —they are all interconnected. The same forces that would see us return to the shadows are the same forces that seek to keep women oppressed, that seek to silence communities of color, that seek to divide us. This is not just an attack on queer people; it is an attack on all of us, an attack on anyone who dares to stand outside of the dominant, oppressive systems of patriarchy, misogyny, and bigotry.

And so, now more than ever, we must act. We must act with intention. We must act with solidarity. We must recognize that the struggle for liberation is a shared struggle, and when we unite, we become stronger. Let us stand together, not just as individuals or as separate groups, but as a collective force that refuses to back down, a community that refuses to be invisible, a community that is not just surviving—but thriving. Let us build a world where care, compassion, and justice are at the center, where we support one another, where our differences are celebrated, not feared.

In this moment, we have the power to shape the future. We have the power to create a world that values all lives, that recognizes the dignity of every person, and that stands firm against hate, bigotry, and oppression.

We are here. We are visible. And we will fight—for each other, for ourselves, and for the generations yet to come.

Thank you.

Remarks by Sable Armeanu (they/them)

I’m so thankful to be here. Every time I meet a new member of local queer community it feels like I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. You all are delightful, and I’ve learned so much from you. Thank you. 

When I was asked to speak for this lovely event I wracked my brain trying to think of what unique or enlightening perspective I could speak on. What in my experience stood out. But the reality is that, while I do have angles that bring diverse context to the topic of being trans, of experiencing transness, what matters more is what I share with others in this moment. 

I’ve never done something like this before. I’ve stood in front of over fifty teenagers and talked about homelessness, which is arguably scarier, and yet that was somehow easy in comparison. The difference here is that I’m not talking about just me, I’m not explaining my experience to an apathetic crowd. Here I am, standing in front of what is likely mostly folks who are trans themselves or love someone who is, maybe someone who was. That’s the important piece. Speaking to pride and joy and so much gratitude for the community that surrounds me, and every person who came before me, who lived around me and changed my life, even if I may never even know their name or face. 

I am a disabled youth, on top of being queer in a multitude of different ways, and I spent so much of my life desperately trying to find the spaces I fit, and rarely seeing myself reflected back. Even in queer spaces I struggled to find others with chronic illness, or who understood a core part of my gender experience. For me, building that bridge between identities, seeing myself reflected in others, seeing disability, transness, even asexuality be embraced in queer spaces, supporting others as they sought the same….that was what really changed my life. 

I am proud to be queer, I am loud and happy overflowing with it. I think it’s important to verbalize that, publicly present that, especially now. In light of the current political climate, the election results, I’ve spent so much time considering the effort, the pain trans and queer folk put in to get us here. To allow me a place of relative safety wearing my pronouns at work, or dressing the way I do. There is privilege there that many still don’t have, it is still a rare and unstable safety. Because of that I’ve spent a lot of time afraid, but I’ve found so much solace and support in the fact that everyone we gather to remember did it, no matter what the world looked like at the time, in a multitude of unique ways. I find pride in that history, and a sort of unchangeable resolve to continue on. 

Connecting with others, building bridges, all comes in part from being grateful of the unique story everyone brings to the community. All the unique stories of those that came before us, what we can learn from them, and what we can teach to others going forward.