Aliyah Mason began a Wednesday evening vigil for a Black transgender woman, who was fatally shot Sept. 8 in the Austin neighborhood and known by loved ones as “Red,” by offering her condolences to Red’s mom.
“No mother should have to feel the pain of losing a child or, even worse, losing a child to gun violence,” said Mason, who met Red about a decade ago on the “stroll,” a stretch of road in Austin where trans women engage in sex work — and the place where Red died.
Mourners eulogized Red, cried, hugged, prayed, lit candles and released balloons during the vigil, which took place in the back lot of TaskForce, an organization in Austin near the stroll that serves LGBTQ+ youth.
One friend cried into a balloon. Others wrote their final notes to Red on a poster board.
During the vigil, Mason recited the names of nine trans women who had been killed in Chicago before Red, either on the South Side or West Side within about the past six years.
“It’s easy to sweep us under the rug, but our names should live on forever,” Mason said.
To Mason and friends of the victim, Red’s death should raise questions about what communities are doing to minimize the dangers faced by trans women, some of who are sex workers.
In 2022, a Tribune analysis found that only about 23% of the violent deaths of transgender women in recent years have been solved by Chicago police, compared with 38% of homicides solved overall.
In June, the Chicago Sun-Times made similar findings involving transgender slayings and a low clearance rate.
Mason told the Tribune after the vigil she became “closer than friends” with Red, 25, by sleeping at each other’s houses and the homes of friends over the years. “We started off all young bunnies out here. We came out at the same time,” said Mason, a 31-year-old trans woman.
Red brought her trans friends out of their shells by doing things as a trans woman that her friends wouldn’t even dare think about doing, Mason added. Even though Mason was younger than Red, she looked up to Red like a big sister, partly because Red was so tough.
Jaliyah Armstrong, another one of Red’s trans friends who knew her for a decade, said Red was always full of energy and making her friends laugh. “She was still young, still trying to … see who she was as a person,” Armstrong said before the vigil.
Shameeka Cross said she has attended “plenty” ceremonies like the vigil for Red, including one last month for a member of the LGBTQ+ group that Red and Cross were a part of.
Cross, 33, referred to Red as her daughter and explained the group is like a family for young queer people whose biological families haven’t fully accepted them.
“She had a bright spirit,” Cross said of Red. “She just always kept a smile on her face, even when she was going through things.”
Chicago police officers were called to the 4600 block of West Monroe Street around 1:30 a.m. and found Red, who had suffered multiple gunshot wounds. Police said Red was declared dead at the scene.
Authorities identified Red by her deadname, Jashawn Joseph.
The Chicago Police Department said at the scene officers also found a 34-year-old who had been struck by gunfire. The second victim was taken to a nearby hospital, where they were listed in critical condition, police said. According to Armstrong, that victim is also a trans woman.
Police have not provided a motive for the shooting, as detectives continue their investigation. Chicago police do not track transgender homicides, specifically.
Reyna Ortiz, a TaskForce employee present at the vigil, said the “majority” of those trans women who died on Chicago’s West Side had used TaskForce’s services.
The organization offers a program that helps young queer people of color find jobs. It has a legal clinic that can assist individuals with name and gender marking changes. With its food pantry and clothing closet, TaskForce is able to provide basic necessities to the needful.
TaskForce’s sexual health program gives youths access to sexual education and sexually transmitted infection testing. The organization even has a drop-in studio space where young people can go to be in the presence of supportive queer people and dance.
“I always say the girls are like the wind,” said Ortiz, 44, a former sex worker. “They just blow in, and you just got to be ready to service them.”
Ortiz said TaskForce, which has existed for more than 30 years, wants those who use its services if they decide to engage in sex work, to engage in sex work safely.
“We can’t stop them from having sex,” said Mason, who also works at the organization.
Before Mason began working for the organization three years ago, she had used its services. Red, who had pushed Mason to put to use her talent for inspiring people and to get a job at TaskForce, also used the organization’s services as a young person, Mason said.
The Wednesday evening vigil was the second ceremony held in Red’s memory, according to Mason. Red’s family and friends organized a vigil for Red on the evening of Sept. 8 near the spot on the stroll where she was killed.
Mason said she didn’t attend the first vigil because it would have been too emotionally difficult for her. A few years ago, Mason herself was shot on the stroll, so she didn’t want to go back to the area so soon after Red had died.
The next day, Mason ventured to the scene of the first vigil and found the memorial site for Red completely destroyed. Pictures were ripped and posters were torn down. Candles were knocked over and flowers were strewn everywhere.
As someone with access to a safe space such as the back lot of a LGBTQ+ organization, Mason felt a duty to host another vigil to give the community some peace.
Mason concluded the vigil by encouraging everyone to believe that Red had gone on to a new home — a home where there is no more dying, no more crying and no more pain.
“We love you Red, we’re gonna miss you Red and we’ll never find another one like you,” Mason said. “You were one in a million, baby.”