According to FBI statistics from 2007 to 2012, as reported by the Ohio Legislative Services Commission, crimes against people for their sexual orientation spiked from a low of 37 in 2010 to a high of 63 in 2012. Data on crimes specifically against transgender people in that time period have not been maintained. State legislation to get those transgender statistics — and related LGBT protections — on the books has fallen flat year after year.
In November 2013, Andrey Bridges was convicted of murdering Cemia Dove. Many in Cleveland's transgender community believe that the prosecutor got the wrong guy. Transgender advocates tried to offer suspect names and information to the Cleveland Police Department, but that information was dismissed outright, activist Zoë Lapin says.
As court transcripts describe the case, Dove had visited Bridges at his Olmsted Township apartment for a date, and she was killed later that night. Two witnesses were also at the location, and Bridges told cops that one of them had murdered the woman. Bridges would be convicted despite his claims. And with a conviction, the story was brushed from the public purview.
Then, in December 2013, two transgender women were murdered in one 24-hour period in Cleveland. Betty Skinner and Brittany-Nicole Kidd-Stergis, shot to death on the east and west sides of town, respectively, suddenly vaulted onto the growing list of brutal hate crimes against the trans community. Delshawn Carroll, 19, was later convicted of murdering Brittany-Nicole and sentenced to 18-years-to-life in prison. It's unclear what connection or motive tied Carroll to the murder. Police told reporters at the time that he had been identified through witness interviews. To date, Cleveland police have not confirmed any leads or suspects in the investigation of Betty's death.
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The problems are far from unique to Cleveland. In the past year alone, more than 200 transgender people have been murdered, often brutally and savagely, around the world. Black transgender women, like Brittany-Nicole in Cleveland, were the victims of 67 percent of all hate-motivated homicides of LGBT people last year, according to the National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs. And as 2009 data from the Trans Murder Monitoring Project bears out, a transgender person is murdered every three days around the world. Brazil is something of an international epicenter, but weak legislation and pervading social discrimination maintain the trend in the U.S., as well.
Following the death of CeCe Dove, the Plain Dealer began a victim-smearing campaign, using phrases like "oddly dressed body" in place of "woman" to describe the brutal crime scene. LGBT groups initiated conversations about simple things like pronoun usage, but coverage of transgender crimes, already slim, seems to have dropped considerably since CeCe's death.
"Where's your care when someone who doesn't look like you is laying dead?" Zoë Lapin asks to no one and everyone. "I don't think there's much journalistic integrity at the Plain Dealer. But what fun is that when you can just make money? Why help people in the community that you're selling papers to?"
After the violence, after the shock, Zoerella Page got mad. A graduate of the Ohio Peace Officer Academy, she had been certified to carry an ASP baton. She also had several canisters of police-grade Mace on hand. She was headed back to war.
In the days and weeks following the assault, Zoerella went out into the streets, scouring the neighborhoods, trying to find the guys who had tried to kill her. She worked along Detroit and north toward ground zero, up and down Clifton and West Boulevard.
One night, outside the gas station near Clifton and Route 2, where Zoerella picked up cigarettes when she used to live in the neighborhood, she saw two of the guys from the attack buying something at the counter.
They looked at one another, and the guys knew exactly who they were looking at. Zoerella immediately borrowed a stranger's cell phone to call the police. The two guys ran down Clifton toward Lakewood. According to Jack's recollection of the night, the 911 operator hung up before any information could be traded.
The second time she called, a police car was promised. Thirty minutes passed. Forty minutes. An hour. No car. Zoerella called back twice more: "I'm here waiting and these guys are long gone." Two hours later, police showed up at Zoerella's house to explain that they might not be able to help on this one.
"Well, we'll try to get 'em next time," an officer told her.
"What do you mean next time? There are cameras at that gas station!" Turns out, of course, the cameras weren't working.