Opinions
Suicide and the policy crisis facing trans Americans
Not an inevitable statistic but a preventable public health emergency
Collegiate swimmer and transgender woman Lia Smith from Middlebury College recently took her own life. Her death has shaken campuses across the country, but it should also shake the conscience of policymakers. We have become too accustomed to treating trans suicide as a tragic but inevitable statistic, instead of the preventable public health crisis it is. The death of one young athlete isn’t an isolated heartbreak — it’s a reflection of national failure.
Transgender people are several times more likely to attempt suicide than the general population. Data from the CDC show that about one in four transgender and questioning high school students has attempted suicide in the past year, compared to fewer than one in 20 cisgender males. That gap is staggering. It’s also reversible. Decades of research and experience show that suicide risk among trans people drops dramatically when they are supported — when their identities are respected, when their healthcare is affirmed, and when they are treated as equal participants in civic life.
So why are we still losing so many?
The answer lies in policy. The mental health of trans Americans is not shaped only in therapy rooms or hospital wards — it is shaped in state legislatures, on college campuses, and in the daily signals society sends about whether we are welcome to exist. Every time a law is passed banning gender-affirming care, restricting participation in sports, or erasing identity from school curricula, it tells trans youth that their lives are negotiable. When adults debate their existence on television, that rhetoric trickles down into classrooms, dorm rooms, and locker rooms, where young people already fighting for belonging are told, in ways subtle and overt, that they do not belong.
The environment on many campuses mirrors the national tension. A college like Middlebury is supposed to be a sanctuary for learning and growth, but trans students often find themselves fighting invisible battles — for pronouns to be respected, for dorms that feel safe, for medical care that affirms who they are. Coaches and administrators rarely receive proper training on how to support gender-diverse athletes, and campus mental health centers are often ill-equipped to handle the specific trauma of identity-based rejection. When that institutional support fails, even the strongest students — those with scholarships, discipline, and community roles — can feel isolated beyond repair.
Policy, at its best, can save lives. Research published in the Journal of Adolescent Health found that access to gender-affirming care significantly reduces suicidal ideation and attempts. The inverse is also true: states with laws restricting such care see measurable spikes in suicide attempts among trans youth. The Trevor Project reports that anti-trans legislation can increase the risk of suicide by as much as 70 percent. These are not abstract percentages; they represent real young people — swimmers, musicians, writers, and scholars — who might have lived had the political climate been less hostile.
Colleges and universities have a duty to fill the gaps that national policy leaves behind. They can start by requiring trans-inclusive mental-health training for faculty, coaches, and residential staff. They can ensure that campus health centers understand the psychological toll of living under attack. And they can collect accurate data on mental health outcomes for trans students so that prevention efforts are based on evidence, not guesswork. These are not radical demands; they are the bare minimum for any institution that claims to care about student wellbeing.
But responsibility does not end at the campus gate. The federal government must recognize suicide among trans Americans as a national emergency — one that requires the same attention we give to veterans, farmers, or law enforcement officers at risk. Funding for research, mental-health infrastructure, and crisis prevention must include the trans community explicitly, not as an afterthought. The message must be clear: protecting trans lives is not a culture-war issue; it is a moral one.
For those of us who have lived through our own storms — the loneliness, the addiction, the feeling of being untethered from a world that doesn’t understand us — these stories hit close to home. I know what it means to feel unseen. I know how fragile the human mind can become when the world tells you that your identity is controversial. And I also know that with community, understanding, and proper care, people can come back from that edge. I have.
When the waters go still, when the headlines fade, we owe it to the swimmer from Middlebury — and to every trans person who has struggled to stay afloat — to act. Policy cannot undo her death, but it can prevent the next one. It can remind trans youth that they are valued, needed, and seen.
The question is whether our leaders have the courage to look past the politics and see the people. Because behind every statistic is a name, a face, and a life that could have been saved.
Isaac Amend is a writer based in the D.C. area. He is a transgender man and was featured in National Geographic’s “Gender Revolution” documentary. He serves on the board of the LGBT Democrats of Virginia. You can follow him on Substack at @isaacamend where he writes about philosophy, love, literature, and 50 cent.
Letter-to-the-Editor
Candidates should pledge to nominate LGBTQ judge to Supreme Court
Presidential, Senate hopefuls need to go on the record
As soon as the final votes are cast and counted and verified after the November 2026 elections are over, the 2028 presidential cycle will begin in earnest. Polls, financial aid requests, and volunteer opportunities ad infinitum will flood the public and personal media. There will be more issues than candidates in both parties. The rending of garments and mudslinging will be both interesting and maybe even amusing as citizens will watch how candidates react to each and every issue of the day.
There is one particular item that I am hoping each candidate will be asked whether in private or in public. If a Supreme Court vacancy occurs in your potential administration, will you nominate an open and qualified LGBTQ to join the remaining eight?
Other interest groups on both sides have made similar demands over the years and have had them honored. Is it not time that our voices are raised as well? There are several already sitting judges on both state and federal benches that have either been elected statewide or approved by the U.S. Senate.
Our communities are being utilized and abused on judicial menus. Enough already! Challenge each and every candidate, regardless of their party with our honest question and see if honest answers are given. By the way … no harm in asking the one-third of the U.S. Senate candidates too who will be on ballots. Looking forward to any candidate tap dancing!
Opinions
2026 elections will bring major changes to D.C. government
Mayor’s office, multiple Council seats up for grabs
Next year will be a banner year for elections in D.C. The mayor announced she will not run. Two Council members, Anita Bonds, At-large, and Brianne Nadeau, Ward 1, have announced they will not run. Waiting for Del. Norton to do the same, but even if she doesn’t, there will be a real race for that office.
So far, Robert White, Council member at-large, and Brooke Pinto, Council member Ward 2, are among a host of others, who have announced. If one of these Council members should win, there would be a special election for their seat. If Kenyon McDuffie, Council member at-large, announces for mayor as a Democrat, which he is expected to do, he will have to resign his seat on the Council as he fills one of the non-Democratic seats there. Janeese George, Ward 4 Council member, announced she is running for mayor. Should she win, there would be a special election for her seat. Another special election could happen if Trayon White, Ward 8, is convicted of his alleged crimes, when he is brought to trial in January. Both the Council chair, and attorney general, have announced they are seeking reelection, along with a host of other offices that will be on the ballot.
Many of the races could look like the one in Ward 1 where at least six people have already announced. They include three members of the LGBTQ community. It seems the current leader in that race is Jackie Reyes Yanes, a Latina activist, not a member of the LGBTQ community, who worked for Mayor Fenty as head of the Latino Affairs Office, and for Mayor Bowser as head of the Office of Community Affairs. About eight, including the two Council members, have already announced they are running for the delegate seat.
I am often asked by candidates for an endorsement. The reason being my years as a community, LGBTQ, and Democratic, activist; and my ability to endorse in my column in the Washington Blade. The only candidate I endorsed so far is Phil Mendelson, for Council chair. While he and I don’t always agree on everything, he’s a staunch supporter of the LGBTQ community, a rational person, and we need someone with a steady hand if there really are six new Council members, out of the 13.
When candidates call, they realize I am a policy wonk. My unsolicited advice to all candidates is: Do more than talk in generalities, be specific and honest as to what you think you can do, if elected. Candidates running for a legislative office, should talk about what bills they will support, and then what new ones they will introduce. What are the first three things you will focus on for your constituents, if elected. If you are running against an incumbent, what do you think you can do differently than the person you hope to replace? For any new policies and programs you propose, if there is a cost, let constituents know how you intend to pay for them. Take the time to learn the city budget, and how money is currently being spent. The more information you have at your fingertips, the smarter you sound, and voters respect that, at least many do. If you are running for mayor, you need to develop a full platform, covering all the issues the city will face, something I have helped a number of previous mayors do. The next mayor will continue to have to deal with the felon in the White House. He/she/they will have to ensure he doesn’t try to eliminate home rule. The next mayor will have to understand how to walk a similar tightrope Mayor Bowser has balanced so effectively.
Currently, the District provides lots of public money to candidates. If you decide to take it, know the details. The city makes it too easy to get. But while it is available, take advantage of it. One new variable in this election is the implementation of rank-choice voting. It will impact how you campaign. If you attack another candidate, you may not be the second, or even third, choice, of their strongest supporters.
Each candidate needs a website. Aside from asking for donations and volunteers, it should have a robust issues section, biography, endorsements, and news. One example I share with candidates is my friend Zach Wahls’s website. He is running for United States Senate from Iowa. It is a comprehensive site, easy to navigate, with concise language, and great pictures. One thing to remember is that D.C. is overwhelmingly Democratic. Chances are the winner of the Democratic primary will win the general election.
Potential candidates should read the DCBOE calendar. Petitions will be available at the Board of Elections on Jan. 23, with the primary on June 16th, and general election on Nov. 3. So, ready, set, go!
Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist.
Opinions
Lighting candles in a time of exhaustion
Gunmen killed 15 people at Sydney Hanukkah celebration
In the wake of the shooting at Bondi Beach that targeted Jews, many of us are sitting with a familiar feeling: exhaustion. Not shock or surprise, but the deep weariness that comes from knowing this violence continues. It is yet another reminder that antisemitism remains persistent.
Bondi Beach is far from Washington, D.C., but antisemitism does not respect geography. When Jews are attacked anywhere, Jews everywhere feel it. We check on family and friends, absorb the headlines, and brace ourselves for the quiet, numbing normalization that has followed acts of mass violence.
Many of us live at an intersection where threats can come from multiple directions. As a community, we have embraced the concept of intersectional identity, and yet in queer spaces, many LGBTQ+ Jews are being implicitly or explicitly asked to play down our Jewishness. Jews hesitate before wearing a Magen David or a kippah. Some of us have learned to compartmentalize our identities, deciding which part of ourselves feels safest to lead with. Are we welcome as queer people only if we mute our Jewishness? Are those around us able to acknowledge that our fear is not abstract, but rooted in a lived reality, one in which our friends and family are directly affected by the rise in antisemitic violence, globally and here at home?
As a result of these experiences, many LGBTQ+ Jews feel a growing fatigue. We are told, implicitly or explicitly, that our fear is inconvenient; that Jewish trauma must be contextualized, minimized, or deferred in favor of other injustices. Certainly, the world is full of horror. And yet, we long for a world in which all lives are cherished and safe, where solidarity is not conditional on political purity or on which parts of ourselves are deemed acceptable to love.
We are now in the season of Chanuka. The story of this holiday is not one of darkness vanishing overnight. It is the story of a fragile light that should not have lasted. Chanuka teaches us that hope does not require certainty; it requires persistence and the courage to kindle a flame even when the darkness feels overwhelming.
For LGBTQ+ Jews, this lesson resonates deeply. We have survived by refusing to disappear across multiple dimensions of our identities. We have built communities, created rituals, and embraced chosen families that affirm the fullness of who we are.
To our LGBTQ+ siblings who are not Jewish: this is a moment to listen, to stand with us, and to make space for our grief. Solidarity means showing up not only when it is easy or popular, but especially when it is uncomfortable.
To our fellow Jews: your exhaustion is valid. Your fear is understandable, and so is your hope. Every candle lit this Chanuka is an act of resilience. Every refusal to hide, every moment of joy, is a declaration that hatred will not have the final word.
Light does not deny darkness. It confronts it.
As we light our candles this Chanuka season, may we protect one another and bring light to one another, even as the world too often responds to difference with violence and hate.
Joshua Maxey is the executive director of Bet Mishpachah, D.C.’s LGBTQ synagogue.
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