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People dance in the Washington Square Park fountain after the 4th Annual Queer Liberation March, June 2022 in New York City
As Trump "celebrates" 100 days since his inauguration, it is also a reminder of the need to show up and counter the hate, fear, and violence.
I still remember the small pebbles of sweat dripping down. Not to say that the body scanner at the airport has always been a frightening endeavor. But I was traveling for the first time since Trump returned to office—literally, the day he was sworn in. Would there be an extra pat-down? Would a loud alarm clock me and cause fellow travelers to look with curiosity? Would I be humiliated by being asked, “What’s down there?”
Fortunately, none of that happened, though the scanner picked up my bra underwire. But as the calendar flips past the first 100 days of Trump’s latest term, it feels like queer folks, especially me and my fellow trans siblings, are back on the same exhausting merry-go-round. Executive orders are issued with little thought, and legislation with no care aimed at erasing trans people from public life.
It sometimes feels like a playlist stuck on repeat that nobody asked for.
But here’s a question that’s been nagging at me as persistently as that ex who texts only after midnight. At a time when politicians and podcasters try to beat us down, how do we stand up for ourselves and other queer folks? How do we not only stand firm but also survive and thrive?
Trump’s second round in office promised more drama and, like any daytime soap opera, it’s delivering. Since stepping back into the White House, we’ve seen an onslaught of anti-trans policies aimed directly at the most vulnerable: trans youth, trans healthcare access, and even our basic dignity in public spaces. It’s a coordinated attack that hopes to break spirits and push us out of sight.
But amidst this chaotic blitz, our community resists and shines brighter.
Now, standing up for queer people, particularly in Trump’s America, is less about grand gestures (though those certainly help) and more about small, meaningful actions repeated daily. It’s about insisting, with unwavering persistence, on the visibility and humanity of queer and trans folks. First, speak up. Loudly. Clearly. Since it isn’t just compliance—it’s a comfort spot for bigotry to curl and grow. Challenge misinformation and question biases. And when someone around you shares a transphobic meme or makes a casually harmful remark, be the awkward silence that follows. Educate, if you have the capacity, but at least disrupt.
Second, amplify queer and trans voices. Supporting queer people isn’t about speaking for us but passing the mic. Read queer authors, follow trans creators, share their work, and uplift their voices. Especially amplify Black trans voices. We’re often the most marginalized, the most targeted, yet simultaneously the most erased from narratives about resilience and joy even as we shape queer and mainstream culture.
Third, allyship needs stamina. It’s not just an Instagram post in June. Donate, volunteer, and show up in spaces where trans and queer lives are actively under threat. Organizations fighting these anti-trans legislations need resources year-round, not just when headlines flare up.
And finally, never underestimate the power of joy as resistance. Joy, especially trans joy, is radical in a world that insists on tragedy. It’s showing up authentically, expressing exactly as we choose, and celebrating loudly. It’s the ultimate pie in the face of oppression. Every anti-trans bill introduced and every executive order signed aims to shrink us further. But what these lawmakers continually underestimate is our audacious joy. We dance, laugh, and thrive, defying every law and order designed to make us disappear.
As we watch the Equality Act again make its way into the halls of Congress, our skepticism is valid. But more importantly, so is our hope—hope that this time it passes, yes, but also hope rooted in our community’s resilience. Legislation alone won’t save us, but community, solidarity, and radical joy certainly can and do.
Being Black, trans, and fabulous in Trump’s America means each day feels like a political statement. And, in many instances, it is. My existence and joy are inherently political. And in these first 100 days, what’s become increasingly clear is that standing up for queer and trans people is about continuing to carve out spaces where our identities aren’t merely tolerated but wildly celebrated.
So here’s my challenge as we move forward, navigating whatever the next 100 days might bring: resist despair, embrace your joy, and continue standing loudly and proudly. Because being comfortable in your trans body and skin, at this time and in this country, is the biggest middle finger you can give to the Trump establishment. Because at the end of the day, no executive order or anti-trans legislation can extinguish the power of a community committed to shining, thriving, and living unapologetically.
Your Lovable Trans Auntie is our go-to advice column for life’s biggest (and messiest) questions—love, work, identity, and everything in between. With a signature blend of warmth, wit, and just the right amount of sass, Auntie offers readers a uniquely trans perspective that’s as affirming as it is entertaining. Whether dishing out heartfelt wisdom, practical advice, or a little tough love, Auntie is here to remind everyone that they’re never alone on this journey
Got a crush but don’t know how to tell them you’re trans? Wondering how to deal with that coworker who still “forgets” your pronouns? Trying to navigate family drama, dating dilemmas, or just figuring out who you are? Auntie’s got you. Submit your questions to voices@equalpride.com.
