When news broke that Middlebury College student and trans athlete Lia Smith had died by suicide, social media did what it always does. It didn’t pause. It didn’t breathe. It exploded.
Within hours, Twitter threads, TikToks, and influencer statements flooded the internet, each one rushing to explain why Lia was gone. Some claimed she’d been kicked off her college swim team for being transgender. Others said she’d been bullied or discriminated against. Many meant well. Some were clout chasing. But one thing united them all: none of it was confirmed.
And that’s the problem.
Tragedy doesn’t give us permission to abandon truth. When misinformation spreads about one of our own, it doesn’t protect the community; it exposes us.
At TransVitae, we take our time because we have to. Not every story is clear in the first 24 hours, and rushing the narrative only adds to the pain. The internet loves speed. But grief needs accuracy.
This is not about defending institutions. It’s about defending honesty, because truth is what gives our advocacy power.
The Social Media Speed Trap
We live in a culture that treats “posting first” as a badge of moral virtue. Whoever shares the outrage fastest wins the internet for the day. But speed is not the same as solidarity.
Algorithms reward emotion. Outrage spreads faster than nuance. Every social platform is built to amplify what gets clicks, and grief, especially public grief, is rocket fuel for engagement. It’s not malicious; it’s mechanical. The system rewards intensity, not accuracy.
When a transgender person dies, the internet feels it deeply. We’re a community that’s been hurt, erased, and demonized, so we cling to each story as if it might finally make the world pay attention. But that emotion can become a trap.
The rush to explain tragedy often replaces the harder work of understanding it. People want a villain they can name, a headline they can share, and a reason that feels righteous. “She was kicked off the team for being trans” becomes a simple, devastating story. It fits the narrative of injustice we already know too well.
But truth rarely fits in a tweet.
Even if the world is cruel, not every act of cruelty is the cause of every tragedy. Sometimes, we just don’t know.
The Lia Smith Example
Let’s start with what we do know. Lia Smith was a 21-year-old student at Middlebury College in Vermont. She was majoring in computer science and statistics. She was a diver on the women’s swimming and diving team. She was active in the Chess Club and Japanese Club. She was also transgender and known among her peers as a kind, articulate advocate for equality.
She was last seen on October 17, 2025, and reported missing two days later. Her body was discovered on October 23 near the college’s organic farm. The Vermont Chief Medical Examiner ruled her death a suicide.
And that’s where the facts end.
There is no confirmed evidence that Lia was expelled or removed from her team. There is no record that she was disciplined, suspended, or forced out because of her identity. Authorities have not linked her death to bullying, discrimination, or transphobia.
What we do have is grief, and into that void of silence, the internet poured noise.
Some social media accounts claimed “she was kicked off the team for being trans,” others repeated the claim without sources, and soon it was everywhere. Within hours, it became “fact” to thousands of people who never stopped to ask where the information came from.
To be clear: transphobia is real, systemic, and deadly. But in Lia’s case, no credible outlet or investigation has confirmed those rumors.
The Harm of Jumping the Gun
Let’s be brutally honest, it feels good to have an explanation. When one of our own dies, we want to know why. But jumping to conclusions can cause more harm than help.
For families, speculation can reopen wounds. Imagine watching your child’s death become a trending topic full of strangers debating your loved one’s identity or inventing details about their final days. That’s not activism. That’s cruelty disguised as advocacy.
For the trans community, misinformation undermines credibility. Every time an unverified claim goes viral, bad-faith actors use it to discredit our real struggles. They say, “See? The trans activists made it up again.” And the next time a confirmed hate crime happens, the public hesitates to believe it.
For journalists and advocates, false information creates confusion that takes time to unwind. When we rush to share unverified stories, we hand our opposition an easy win. They don’t have to invent doubt; we do it for them.
And finally, for ourselves, it’s emotionally exhausting. Online grief spirals quickly into performative empathy. People compete to sound the most heartbroken, the most outraged, and the most “informed.” But there’s a difference between showing up for a community and showing off for an audience.
We can care deeply without posting prematurely. We can mourn publicly without manufacturing certainty.
Because every time we jump to conclusions, we risk dishonoring the person we’re trying to defend.
What Responsible Reporting Looks Like
At TransVitae, we don’t rush stories like this. We verify, cross-check, and confirm before we publish. Not because we’re afraid to speak up, but because the truth matters more than the timeline.
Our editorial process is simple but sacred:
- Wait for official confirmation. If it’s not in the public record, we don’t print it.
- Source the source. We read primary documents, not screenshots.
- Protect the person first. We focus on the life, not the rumor.
- Use empathy, not emotion, as the standard. Empathy listens; emotion assumes.
When dealing with suicide or tragedy, responsible reporting also means following safe coverage practices, avoiding descriptions of method, respecting privacy, and centering mental health resources.
This kind of careful work doesn’t go viral. It doesn’t light up algorithms. But it builds something more lasting: trust.
And for marginalized communities, trust is everything.
In a world that constantly distorts our image, being accurate isn’t just professional—it’s revolutionary.
Media Literacy for the Community
We don’t just need ethical journalists. We need informed readers.
Every person in our community has power over how stories spread. Here’s how to use it responsibly:
- Check the source before you share. If you can’t find a direct link to a reputable outlet, pause.
- Be cautious with screenshots. They’re easy to fake and often remove context.
- Wait for confirmation from multiple outlets. Real news doesn’t fear a second opinion.
- Beware of influencer “breaking news.” Social media personalities are not reporters.
- If you’re wrong, correct it publicly. Accountability is how we rebuild trust.
You don’t need to be a journalist to protect truth; you just need to care about it.
And remember, disinformation doesn’t always come from people who hate us. Sometimes it comes from within our own circles, from well-meaning advocates who post before verifying. But good intentions don’t erase consequences.
As a community, our credibility is currency. Every time we spend it on a rumor, we devalue our cause.
Grief, Compassion, and the Need to Breathe
None of this means we shouldn’t care. It means we should care better.
We can grieve Lia Smith deeply without needing to explain her death before her family even has answers. We can mourn without mythmaking.
Not every trans tragedy needs to become a moral parable. Sometimes, the kindest thing we can do is hold space for uncertainty.
If you’ve ever lost someone to suicide, you know the pain doesn’t come with a neat conclusion. There’s rarely a single “why.” That’s true for Lia too. She was more than her final act.
We can honor her by resisting the urge to turn her into a symbol of everything wrong with the world. Let her be remembered for who she was: a student, an athlete, an advocate, and a human being with laughter, goals, and flaws like any of us.
When we replace truth with assumption, we erase the person behind the story.
Turning Lessons into Action
Lia’s death should still move us to act, but that action should be informed.
If you want to make a difference:
- Support organizations that provide mental health services for LGBTQ+ youth.
- Demand better policies for trans athletes that prioritize inclusion and safety.
- Call on schools and sports programs to improve their mental health outreach.
- And most importantly, challenge misinformation, even when it’s coming from inside the community.
Justice built on shaky facts doesn’t last. Advocacy that ignores accuracy eventually hurts the people it claims to protect.
The internet has enough noise. We need more clarity.
The Bottom Line
At the heart of this story is a young trans woman who should still be here. Lia Smith deserved a long life filled with joy, purpose, and peace. Her friends and family deserve space to grieve without a social media jury deciding her legacy.
Transphobia is real. Institutional neglect is real. But the truth still matters, even when it’s inconvenient or incomplete. We can fight injustice and still wait for evidence. We can feel pain and still protect the facts. Those things aren’t opposites; they’re both acts of love.
So the next time tragedy strikes and the internet starts spinning, take a breath before you post. Ask yourself one simple question: Am I helping the truth, or just feeding the feed?
Because in the end, misinformation doesn’t honor the dead; it just buries the truth beside them. Let’s do better. For Lia. For her family. For all of us.
