One Tragic Act Does Not Define A Community

As a transgender woman and former United States Marine Sergeant, I’ve faced my share of battles—both on the battlefield and in the personal arena of identity and acceptance. Serving my country taught me resilience, the kind forged in the fires of adversity, not sheltered from them.

Today, I find myself compelled to speak out in the wake of the heartbreaking shooting at Annunciation Catholic School in Minneapolis, where two young children lost their lives and 17 others were injured when a shooter opened fire through the church windows during a morning Mass.

The suspect, identified as 23-year-old Robin Westman, a transgender woman who later died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, has thrust our community into an unwelcome spotlight.

My heart aches for the victims, their families, and the entire Minneapolis community reeling from this senseless violence. But as the dust settles, I urge everyone—especially those quick to judge—to remember: the actions of one deeply troubled individual do not reflect the character of an entire group.

In the hours following the tragedy, voices from certain corners have seized on Westman’s transgender identity to paint broad, damaging strokes about all transgender people, labeling us as inherently violent or unstable.

This is not only unfair but dangerously misguided. Just as we wouldn’t condemn all Muslims for the acts of a single terrorist, or all Black individuals for the crimes of one person, or all Jewish or Hispanic people based on isolated incidents, we must resist the urge to stereotype transgender folks.

History is rife with examples where fear and ignorance have led to the scapegoating of minorities, from Japanese Americans during World War II to immigrants today.

Grouping people by skin color, gender identity, religion, or any other trait ignores the fundamental truth that we are all individuals, each with our own stories, struggles, and strengths. To do otherwise erodes the very fabric of a diverse society that values humanity over hasty generalizations.

From what has emerged about Westman—through court records showing her name change in 2020 to reflect her female identity, and videos revealing ramblings about depression, self-hatred, and fascination with past mass shooters—it seems clear this was someone grappling with profound mental health challenges.

Her writings and actions suggest a person in deep turmoil, possibly exacerbated by internal conflicts over gender and identity, as noted in her journals where she expressed not fully feeling like a man or a woman.

I have no concrete evidence, but as someone who’s navigated the transgender experience myself, I can’t help but wonder if Westman faced rejection or ridicule—perhaps at school, or even within spaces meant to be supportive.

Attending a Catholic school like Annunciation, where her mother once worked, might have added layers of complexity in an environment not always affirming of transgender identities.

This is purely my personal intuition, drawn from conversations with hundreds of transgender individuals at support meetings I’ve attended over the years.

Many young trans people I’ve spoken to have shared stories of isolation, bullying, and a lack of acceptance that can compound existing mental health issues. But let me be crystal clear: none of this justifies the horrific act she committed.

Violence is never an answer, and taking innocent lives, especially those of children, is an abomination that demands accountability and prevention, not excuses.

This tragedy underscores a broader point about resilience that I’ve carried from my time in the Marines: life is full of storms, and hiding from them in “safe spaces” doesn’t build the spine needed to weather them. I’ve seen too many young transgender people retreat into bubbles, avoiding the rigors of real-world challenges, only to emerge more fragile.

That’s not how character is formed. In the Corps, we faced adversity head-on—it toughened us, taught us grit, and made us better people. Through my involvement in transgender support groups, where I’ve connected with countless others like myself, I’ve encouraged this mindset: embrace the difficulties, engage with the world, and grow from them. It’s how we become individuals of substance, capable of contributing positively rather than succumbing to despair.

Experts emphasize that mass shootings by transgender individuals are exceedingly rare—far less than 0.5% of such incidents overall—and that trans people are more often victims of violence than perpetrators.

Yet, in the rush to politicize this event, some have ignored these facts, fueling hate instead of fostering healing.

As Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey rightly stated, anyone using this to villainize the trans community has “lost their sense of common humanity.”

Let’s shift the focus where it belongs: on supporting the victims, addressing mental health crises, and preventing gun violence through sensible measures that protect everyone, without demonizing marginalized groups.

In the end, we must judge people as individuals, not as representatives of any category. That’s the America I fought for—a place where diversity strengthens us, and where one person’s darkness doesn’t eclipse the light of an entire community.

To the families affected: you have my deepest condolences and unwavering support. May we all emerge from this stronger, more compassionate, and united.

Dr. Gwen Patrone

Editorial comment: I am thankful for Gwen’s always thoughtful contributions here.