San Jose Mercury News
Posted on Fri, Oct. 03, 2003
A year later, slaying of teen still echoes
TRANSGENDER ISSUE BRINGS A MEASURE OF HEALING
By Yomi S. Wronge
Mercury News

One year later, the death of 17-year-old Gwen Araujo, a transgender girl born as Eddie Araujo Jr., is still sending ripples of change across the Bay Area.

The brutal killing of the Newark teenager galvanized the transgender community as never before. For many others, Gwen's story educated them about a segment of society that they didn't know or understand.

And in her hometown, her memory has fostered a measure of acceptance of transgender people that she rarely received in her own short life.

``People are very open and willing to talk about issues of sexual orientation and in particular the safety of kids in the school,'' said Paul Clifford, a business owner in Newark and member of the local chapter of Parents, Family and Friends of Lesbians and Gays. ``They don't care what gender she was. They think Gwen should have been better taken care of in our community and in our schools.''

Prosecutors say Gwen was killed Oct. 4, 2002, in a Newark home after four local men discovered she was anatomically male. At least two had a sexual relationship with the teen. Witnesses say the men beat and strangled Gwen, then buried her body near South Lake Tahoe.

One defendant has pleaded guilty. Three others face first-degree murder charges with a hate crime enhancement because of Gwen's transgender identity. Their trial is scheduled to start in March.

But more than the sensationalism of the crime itself, it seems that Gwen's life -- once promising, but rife with pain -- is what lingers on the collective consciousness.

``The pictures I saw in the paper is not what I saw in the coffin,'' said Rachael Janelle Light, a 56-year-old transgender activist from Sunnyvale who attended her funeral. ``That could have been my child.''

Light never knew Gwen but said she got butterfly tattoos in her honor.

Other transgender people say Gwen's legacy has prompted them to do more outreach, trying to establish social networks to support transgender youth.

``A lot more people are looking at themselves and thinking, `There but for the grace of God go I,' '' said Roxy Carmichael-Hart, a Hayward resident and president of Transgender San Francisco, one of the largest transgender groups in the country.

In 2002, -- the deadliest year on record, according to transgender activists -- 25 people were killed in the United States because of their real or perceived transgender status.

``What the murder of Gwen Araujo did was gave the rest of us a look into the everyday realities that transgender people experience,'' said Chris Daley, co-director of the Transgender Law Center in San Francisco.

Daley points to the passage of a bill that bans transgender discrimination in housing and the workplace as a sign that, at least in California, attitudes are shifting.

Newark shows shift

But nowhere has that shift been more evident than in Newark, a blue-collar city of 43,000.

Kate Lyness, 18, a recent graduate of Newark Memorial High School was stunned that the hate that fueled Gwen's slaying was home-grown.

Friends and her family -- which has declined interview requests -- say that Gwen experimented with make-up and feminine clothing through early adolescence, until she came out with her transgender identity in the ninth grade. She gave herself the name Gwen after singer Gwen Stefani of the group No Doubt.

Gwen's family and friends accepted the change. Others ostracized her for it.

Lyness said it chills her to think how that climate of intolerance may have inspired four local men to commit murder.

``These kids went to the same school as I did, sat at the same desks, went to same community parks, did same things I did. . . . They were just normal kids, and that scares me.''

After the arrest of Michael Magidson, Jose Merel, Jason Cazares and Jaron Nabors, the community was forced to face itself.

``This whole town was in denial that this could happen here,'' said Judy Mellberg, 61, a resident and school volunteer. ``I don't think any town this size is aware that there's really a gay, lesbian and transgender population here.''

Some accused city leaders of being slow to react. But nothing of this magnitude had ever hit Newark, a city which counted only this one homicide for all of 2002.

Signs of tolerance

In December, three months after the slaying, Mayor Dave Smith held a community forum to address issues of safety and intolerance toward gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender citizens. He called for residents to suggest ways the city could be more inclusive. There are signs of that happening now, particularly in the schools.

On the Newark Memorial High campus, where homophobic slurs used to punctuate students' casual conversations, nary an abusive word is openly heard, said drama teacher Barbara Williams. She said the school's Gay/Straight Alliance club grew from five members prior to the slaying into a thriving group of 20 with twice-monthly meetings.

And since last year, community members have launched Not In Newark, based on the Not In Our Town national movement that encourages community response to hate crimes.

Last week, Not In Newark proposed five recommendations to the Newark City Council, including a local law banning sexual and gender discrimination in city hiring and contracting; special training for police and other employees on anti-gay harassment and bias; and establishment of a Newark human rights commission.

Police Chief Ray Samuels said his officers already receive special training. But he also acknowledged that the impact of Gwen's slaying was something no one could have prepared for.

``Maybe that's the eternal optimist trying to make something good out of something terrible,'' Samuels said. ``It was a horrible crime and I'd like to think we've moved forward.''