No one in Dundee was more loved than Lexi Campbell.
Or at least, that was the impression you’d have if you were at their memorial concert at Church last Saturday night.
LexFest, a collection of local acts performing in tribute to the late Dundee musician, marked one year since Lexi took their own life aged 25.
Like many people my age in the city, I knew Lex, albeit not well.
And like everybody who knew them, well or not, I loved them instantly.
It’s easy to say nice things about the dead, but Lexi truly did light up rooms, and people. To meet them was to be their friend; if they shone their spotlight smile on you once, you’re probably still glowing.
And with nearly 300 shining people at LexFest all connected by just one common thread – loving Lexi – it was easy to forget, at points, why we were all there in the first place.
Not to party with Lexi; to remember them.
Because despite their almost tangible presence in the room – songs about them, former bandmates on the stage, friends and family swaying in the rainbow-coloured crowd – Lexi wasn’t there.
There’s a quote from a TV show my best friend likes, that goes: ‘What is grief if not love persevering?’
And I’ve never understood it more than I did standing on the sticky floor of Church, watching so much love radiate from everyone around me as they tried to give it somewhere to go.
I realised that so often, we attribute suicide to a lack of love, or at least a lack of awareness of it. I think maybe it’s so we can feel some sort of control.
We say trite, flimsy things like: ‘If only they had known how much everybody loved them.’
But we all know fine well that love has nothing to do with it.
To prevent suicide, we must create safety
You only had to glance around the crowd at LexFest to see that no amount of love could have saved Lexi’s life.
You can’t love someone into staying; if you could, Lexi would unquestionably still be here.
But love isn’t the same as safety.
I don’t claim to know what Lexi’s reasons for leaving were. But I do know that suicide is a last resort of those for whom there is no safety, either in the world or in their minds.
For Lexi, a trans non-binary, mixed-race young person in today’s Scotland, today’s hostile world was not a safe place to live.
It’s well documented that LGBTQ+ youth are at higher risk of suicide than their peers.
And the cacophony of hatred for trans people being whipped up by the so-called Gender Critical movement is getting damn near impossible to drown out.
So much so that even while the bass drum of Lexi’s old band thumped into my skeleton, all I could think was: This will happen again.
People like Lexi – shiny, bright, loved people – will keep leaving until our society becomes more of a home than a battleground.
Which is why The Canmore Trust, one of the two suicide bereavement charities which will benefit from the £2,525 raised by LexFest, focuses on creating ‘a world where people feel safe enough to stay’.
In a stroke of tragic irony, Lexi’s death means that Dundee has created a new safe space for queer youth in the form of LexFest.
And with organisers hoping to make it an annual event, there is a chance it will remain part of Lexi’s legacy for many years to come.
That’s a beautiful thing; an event created out of love, persevering.
No amount of that love can bring Lexi back; but maybe one more pocket of safety in our city can help someone else to stay.
