​'Gentefied' Writer and Trans Advocate Camila Concepción Dead at 28

​'Gentefied' Writer and Trans Advocate Camila Concepción Dead at 28
Camila Concepción, a writer on Gentefied and an advocate for marginalized groups, has died by suicide. She was 28.
 
The trans Latina activist passed away last Friday (February 21).
 
Concepción was from California and attended Yale University to study English literature. She was a writer's assistant on Gentefied, which just made its debut on Netflix last week.
 
Concepción had previously worked on Daybreak, as well.
 
She was a vocal advocate for trans and Latinx communities, speaking about trans rights at events like the United States of Women Summit. She also worked with Transparent creator Jill Soloway and artist Favianna Rodriguez on the 5050by2020 initiative, aimed at increasing diversity and inclusion in film, TV and art.
 
Gentefied creators Marvin Lemus and Linda Yvette Chávez have since both paid tribute to Concepción.
 
"When Linda and I met you, we knew you were the most special, raw talent we'd ever fucking met," Lemus wrote on Instagram. "We knew you were going to be huge. You were going to be bigger than just our writer's assistant."
 
Chávez wrote in her own post, "My love, you were brilliant. You were powerful. You were a creator Marvin and I were ready to champion to the ends of the earth."
 
Read both of their heartfelt tributes to Concepción below.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

I've been trying to avoid writing this post all day. Late last night the Gentefied family learned that we lost one of the brightest souls, not only on this show, but that I've ever met in my life. I've been trying my hardest to numb the hurt by focusing on the show and all the love coming in, waiting to get a phone call to let me know this was a sick joke. Camila, Im so mad at you right now. I'm so fucking pissed because I kept waiting to hear back about that coffee. I was excited to see what crazy outfit you were going to wear to the premiere. I'm mad that I don't get to hear you ramble on and on about what you thought of your first episode of television. What I'm sure would be mostly talking about how fucking great you are. And you would be absolutely right. When Linda and I met you, we knew you were the most special, raw talent we'd ever fucking met. We knew you were going to be huge. You were going to be bigger than just our writer's assistant. I'm so fucking mad at you because I'm one of your million adoring fans and I was going to make it my personal mission to make sure the fucking world knew your name. I was so excited thinking about being in the room again with you and being annoyed at how many fucking pictures you would ask me to take of you because you knew my conceited ass also wanted to get the best shot that made you look amazing. Mija, I knew just an inkling of the pain you were feeling and the hurt you had gone through. You inspired me every day with your perseverance and your ability to shorten very fucking word to fit into your schedule. Mija, I hope you're at peace now. I'll get over my anger. I'm not ready yet. Maybe it's just my way of holding onto just a bit of the flame that made you so incredibly bright. The past 24 hours were supposed to be for all of us. Pero te lo juro que we'll make every minute from now on count in your honor. Siempre. Rest in Power. Rest In Peace. Te amo. Your big brother, Marvinganoosh.

A post shared by Marvin Lemus (@elmarvinlemus) on


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Camila, mi amor, I can't seem to write these words without bursting into tears. I can't believe I'm writing these words at all. Because you're supposed to be here, Camila. You were supposed to be there Thursday and you weren't. And I texted you because I was worried. Because you were missing. A big part of this dream was missing and i should have known... I should have listened to that voice inside that said something was wrong... My love, you were brilliant. You were powerful. You were a creator Marvin and I were ready to champion to the ends of the earth. The first time you sat in that room with us a year and a half ago you were magnetic. You told story like you were spinning cotton candy. The sweetness enveloping the jagged edges of a woman looking to heal. My girl from El Monte who went to Yale who loved her girl from Norwalk who went to Stanford. And we trauma-bonded over being the only ones in a sea of whiteness. Over leaving our hoods and doing better and doing right by our mamis. You were an angel God sent me. I'll never forget the first text you sent me filled with so much love, respect, and adoration. You said you looked up to me but in words that felt like they were coming from the universe itself because you always seemed to send them when I needed them most. When I was struggling with making the show and was having a hard time believing in myself. You were this angel that would pop into my messages or into my office and say exactly what I needed to hear... and did I ever thank you for that? I thought I did but now I can't remember. And fuck I hope I did. You were a light. A brilliant light that struggled to shine in the midst of the darkness in this world. But I saw you, girl. I fucking saw you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I knew you were fucking magic and I wanted the world to devour your magnificence the way you deserved. Baby, you were going to have a show on HBO. I needed that show. I needed your voice. Your story. Your wisdom. Your fucking fierce wit and fearless IDGAF fervor. You should be here.

A post shared by Linda Yvette Chávez (@lindayvettechavez) on