What if the obituary you write for a feminist icon isn’t just a eulogy, but a mirror—one that reflects not only her life but the vast, often uncharted landscapes of identity she traversed? What if, in the act of memorializing, we accidentally erase the very people she fought beside, the ones whose names history has yet to learn? Feminism, in its most radical and inclusive form, demands we ask these questions before we ever put pen to paper. Writing a trans-inclusive feminist obituary or biography isn’t just about adding pronouns or acknowledging a gender identity; it’s about dismantling the binaries that have long dictated whose stories get told—and whose get buried.
The Peril of the Binary: Why “Woman” Alone is Never Enough
Feminism has spent decades untangling itself from the suffocating grip of the gender binary, yet obituaries and biographies often remain stubbornly stuck in the past. Consider the phrase “a woman of her time”—a seemingly innocuous turn of phrase that, upon closer inspection, is a linguistic cage. It implies that womanhood is a static, monolithic experience, one that excludes those who defy the narrow definitions of femininity and womanhood imposed by patriarchal structures. A trans woman’s life, for instance, is rarely framed as “a woman of her time” but rather as an anomaly, a disruption, or worse, a footnote. The challenge? To write obituaries that don’t just tolerate trans existence but celebrate it as integral to the feminist legacy.
This isn’t just about representation; it’s about reclamation. The gender binary didn’t just oppress women—it erased the very possibility of other genders, other ways of being. When we write a feminist obituary without acknowledging a trans woman’s identity, we don’t just omit a detail; we perpetuate the erasure that may have haunted her entire life. The question isn’t whether to include a trans person’s identity in their obituary—it’s how to do so with the reverence and complexity their life deserves.
The Art of the Un-erasure: Names, Pronouns, and the Weight of Language
Language is a battleground, and obituaries are some of its most high-stakes skirmishes. The simplest act of including a trans person’s chosen name and pronouns in their obituary can feel like a revolutionary act. Yet even this is fraught with pitfalls. What if the family refuses to acknowledge the name the deceased used in life? What if the obituary is written by someone who still sees gender as a fixed, unchanging essence? The answer isn’t to avoid the topic altogether but to approach it with the same care we’d give to any other aspect of a person’s identity.
Consider the case of a trans feminist whose obituary lists her as “she/her” but never mentions her transition. Is this inclusion or erasure in disguise? The challenge lies in balancing respect for the deceased’s wishes with the ethical imperative to tell their full story. If a trans woman lived as a woman, died as a woman, and was remembered as a woman, does her transition history need to be spelled out in neon? Not necessarily—but it should never be treated as a secret, either. The goal is to write a life story that feels authentic, not one that tiptoes around the truth for the sake of comfort.
Beyond the Binary: Honoring Non-Binary and Gender-Nonconforming Lives
Trans inclusion isn’t just about women. Non-binary and gender-nonconforming people have been at the forefront of feminist movements, yet their obituaries often reduce them to a footnote or, worse, a punchline. How do we write about a non-binary feminist whose life was defined by their work in reproductive justice, labor rights, or queer liberation without defaulting to the tired trope of “they were ahead of their time”? The answer lies in centering their identity—not as a novelty, but as a fundamental part of who they were and what they fought for.
Imagine an obituary for a non-binary activist that reads: “They were a thorn in the side of the patriarchy, a disruptor of norms, and a relentless advocate for the marginalized.” No qualifiers. No apologies. Just a life lived in full, unapologetic defiance of the systems that sought to contain them. The challenge is to write these lives with the same depth and nuance we afford cisgender feminists, without reducing their gender identity to a single sentence or a parenthetical aside.
The Family Factor: Navigating Resistance and Reluctance
Not everyone will welcome the inclusion of a trans person’s identity in their obituary. Families may resist, citing tradition, discomfort, or outright denial. This is where the rubber meets the road. Do we prioritize the wishes of the family over the truth of the deceased’s life? Or do we hold space for the fullness of their identity, even if it makes others uncomfortable? The feminist answer is clear: we center the person who lived, not the people who are left behind.
This doesn’t mean we ignore the family’s grief or their right to mourn in their own way. It means we refuse to let their discomfort dictate the narrative. If a trans woman’s family insists on using her deadname in her obituary, we can include her chosen name in parentheses, or we can write a separate statement explaining the discrepancy. The goal isn’t to shame but to educate—to show that a life lived authentically is worth more than a eulogy that erases that authenticity.
The Legacy Question: How Do We Measure a Feminist Life?
Feminist obituaries often fall into the trap of measuring a life by its milestones: the books written, the protests organized, the awards received. But what about the quiet acts of resistance? The trans woman who mentored other trans youth, the non-binary activist who organized mutual aid networks during a crisis, the feminist who lived their truth in a world that refused to see it? These lives are not less important because they didn’t make the history books. They are the history.
The challenge is to write obituaries that don’t just list achievements but capture the essence of a life lived in defiance. It’s about asking: What did this person teach us about resilience? How did they redefine womanhood, or gender, or feminism itself? The most powerful feminist obituaries aren’t just eulogies—they’re manifestos, calls to action, reminders that the fight for liberation is far from over.
The Final Challenge: Writing Ourselves into the Future
Every obituary we write is a blueprint for how future generations will remember us. Will we be the feminists who played it safe, who tiptoed around the edges of inclusion? Or will we be the ones who dared to write lives in full, unapologetic color? The choice isn’t just about the words we use—it’s about the world we want to build.
So the next time you sit down to write a feminist obituary, ask yourself: Whose story am I leaving out? Whose name am I afraid to say? And most importantly—whose life am I refusing to honor in the way it deserves? The answer to those questions might just be the most radical act of feminism you’ll ever commit.
