Trinidad and Tobago has reinstated its ban on homosexuality, which was lifted by the Caribbean nation’s High Court in 2018.
That year, the High Court in the Christian-majority nation ruled in a lawsuit brought by LGBTQ+ activist Jason Jones that Sections 13 and 16 of the Sexual Offenses Act are “irrational and illegal” because they violate the rights to privacy and freedom of expression.
“What I think the judge pointed out was ‘here every creed and race find an equal place,’ and I think we must all come together now and embrace each other in true love and respect,” Jones said at the time.
But on March 25, the Court of Appeals reversed that decision, saying that only Parliament can overturn the country’s ban on homosexuality. The Court of Appeals also reduced the maximum sentence associated with homosexuality to five years in prison. Prior to 2018, the maximum penalty was 25 years in prison.
“Judges cannot change the law,” Tuesday’s ruling states. “We give effect to Parliament’s intention…. It is, therefore, left to Parliament to repeal the criminalization of buggery and the related offense of gross indecency by legislation. It is an emotive issue which engages vibrant discussion in the court of public opinion.”
“Parliament is ultimately responsible for ensuring that laws reflect the evolving standards of a democratic society. That is their role and function. Any provisions found to be unconstitutional must be taken from the statute books by Parliament through legislative reform and not by judicial overreach.”
Jones spoke out against the Court of Appeals decision.
“We are talking about the rights of some 100,000 LGBTQIA+ citizens in [Trinidad and Tobago],” he told Trinidad and Tobago Newsday. “Why are we spending all this money and retaining these laws?”
“The modernization of our democracy is at stake here, and this is the beginning of this modernization.”
In the original 2018 case, religious conservatives argued that God’s wrath would be visited on Trinidad and Tobago if the anti-homosexuality laws were overturned. Conservatives argued that legalizing homosexuality would violate their religious beliefs.
The judge said the ruling “is not an assessment or denial of the religious beliefs of anyone.”
Christian conservatives also told the press that they’re worried about “homosexual rights trumping heterosexual rights.”
While lawmakers across the country push a record number of anti-LGBTQ+ bills, in Tennessee, Kayla Gore is pushing back — not just through protest but with power tools, persistence, and vision.
In a quiet stretch of Memphis, she’s creating something remarkable: a neighborhood of tiny homes designed to house Black transgender people and nonbinary individuals impacted by housing insecurity. Her nonprofit, My Sistah’s House, founded in 2016, is reimagining what safety and autonomy can look like in the South.
Gore and her work are featured in the GLAAD Media Award-nominateddocumentary American Problems, Trans Solutions, hosted and produced by Emmy and Peabody-winning trans journalist Imara Jones, the founder of TransLash Media. The film follows Gore alongside Breonna McCree and Oluchi Omeoga, each a leading visionary, community-rooted response to systemic failures — from housing inequality to immigrant justice. Gore appears in the film walking through the lots she and her team have developed for trans and nonbinary people in need, describing the homes with pride. “It really helps people who would never, ever in their wildest dreams think they could own a home,” she says in the documentary.
The Advocate recently spoke to Gore about her work and the documentary.
“We wanted to build sheds,” Gore said, remembering how the project took root during the pandemic and Black Lives Matter uprisings. “That was the original goal. But the support came in so strong, we started buying land. An architect reached out. We realized — we could actually build homes.”
Today, My Sistah’s House has completed 11 homes, each one filled. “The 11th house will be occupied on the first [of April],” Gore told The Advocate. “Somebody’s moving in.” More are on the way. But Gore is clear: This work is not aspirational — it’s urgent.
According to the American Civil Liberties Union, 527 anti-LGBTQ+ bills are advancing in state legislatures across the country.Tennessee, where Gore’s work is based, is among the worst. In 2025 alone, the ACLU is tracking more than a dozen bills in the state targeting health care, education, and legal recognition for LGBTQ+ people — especially transgender Tennesseans.
“These policies don’t just create stigma — they cause homelessness,” Gore told The Advocate. “We’re already blocked out of economics. Then you repeal HUD’s Equal Access Rule, and trans people lose even the minimal protections we had in shelters.”
Transgender people — particularly Black and Brown trans individuals — face alarming rates of housing instability. According to the 2022 U.S. Transgender Survey conducted by the National Center for Transgender Equality, nearly 30 percent of transgender people have experienced homelessness at some point in their lives due to their gender identity. For transgender people of color, the rates are even higher. According to a 2022 Harvard Civil Rights – Civil Liberties Law Review report, 41 percent of Black trans people have experienced homelessness.
The Equal Access Rule, first established by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development under President Barack Obama in 2012 and expanded in 2016, required that people seeking shelter be housed in accordance with their gender identity rather than their sex assigned at birth. It barred shelter providers from intrusive questioning or requiring anatomical or medical documentation. The rule was designed to ensure that transgender people could access HUD-funded shelters safely and without discrimination — including emergency shelters with shared sleeping or bathing facilities.
However, on February 7, HUD Secretary Scott Turner announced the agency would halt enforcement of the rule, declaring that HUD programs would now be guided by “biological truth” and provide services “based on sex at birth.” Housing advocates, including the National Low Income Housing Coalition, condemned the rollback, emphasizing its harmful impact on already vulnerable transgender people and pledging to continue fighting for equal access.
Gore says the rollback of Equal Access has real consequences: “Trans people are being turned away. We hear it directly from people applying for shelter.”
Gore and her team working on a new building.Sean Black for My Sistah’s House
“Well, it’s not affecting us in a way of funding because we don’t get federal funding,” she said. “But without the strong enforcement of the equal access rule, like many trans people, specifically here in Memphis, they’re going to be displaced, they’re going to be homeless, and, I mean, that’s just the bottom line about it.”
Gore knows this firsthand. She once experienced homelessness in Arizona after losing her job — and says housing became even harder to access once she began her gender transition.
“I had a roof but no stove, no fridge. I was barely able to close my door,” she recalled. “So when I bought my own home, I thought — we can pay this forward. That’s how My Sistah’s House started.”
The homes are modest, light-filled, and permanent. Built through a mutual aid model, they bypass traditional barriers like credit checks and down payments. Residents now sign rental agreements, but Gore envisions a future where a community land trust enables ownership.
“We’re in the process of forming a community land trust,” she told The Advocate. “Some students at the University of Memphis are promising to work with us online, getting through the legal part of forming an actual community land trust so that it protects everybody involved — the organization, our residents, and the people in the adjacent houses.”
But the path forward isn’t easy. Gore’s success has drawn attention — and rising land prices. Lots that once cost $2,500 now go for $15,000. So, the organization is pivoting. A drop-in center and emergency shelter are in the works to meet growing needs on a plot of land that is zoned accordingly.
My Sistahs House Memphis Tennessee Kayla Gore new residentsSean Black for My Sistah’s House
Since the Trump administration returned to office and began targeting transgender people with executive orders, Gore said demand for services has surged.
“In recent months, we’ve seen more housing requests than the entire previous year,” she said.
Still, there are moments of hope when talking about a family who moved from a shelter into one of the homes, Gore beams.
“That was a full-circle moment,” she said. “And people in the neighborhood want to move in too because they see the beauty of these homes.”
TK CAPTIONSean Black for My Sistah’s House
Her neighbors in South Memphis and Glenview are curious — and often supportive. Some ask how to rent one. Others admire the design. Gore said their interest signals a shift in how trans-led development is viewed — but she also pointed to persistent barriers.
“If a white gay man is living on the street, property values go up,” she said. “But add Black trans women, and suddenly people think it brings the community down.” Gore emphasized that transgender people still face structural and cultural exclusion, even when their presence improves neighborhoods. “People should be throwing land at us,” she said, “but instead, we have to fight for every lot.”
In American Problems, Trans Solutions, Gore explains the practice of putting signs up at construction sites: a signal of pride and presence. “We don’t put them up at occupied homes — we don’t want to put anyone at risk. But while we’re building, it creates visibility and normality.”
Gore lays out her dream: a world where My Sistah’s House doesn’t have to exist.
She admits she said as much in the documentary, but in light of the new Republican regime and escalating threats to transgender rights, she added, “In this climate, it’s just not foreseeable for us to even think that right now.”
For Transgender Day of Visibility, My Sistah’s House is hosting a citywide rally in Memphis. The bridge will be lit in the trans flag’s colors. The mayor will be there. So will the community.
“People say, ‘Don’t you want to move to a blue state?’” Gore said. “But the work is here. Memphis is a blue city in a red state. Our local government supports us. And our community needs us.”
In November of 2016, Brock McGillis became the first openly gay men’s professional hockey player. Now retired, he has spent years advocating for inclusivity in sports, and now, through his U.S. Shiftmakers Tour, he continues. He’s challenging homophobia, fostering inclusion, and inspiring the next generation of athletes.
Last year, The Advocate wrote about McGillis’ tour across Canada, where he proved that real change is possible. The Canadian tour was so successful that now, backed by sponsors including the NHL, NHLPA, Seattle Kraken, Chicago Blackhawks, and Warner Bros, he has expanded his efforts into the United States.
Now, McGillis has been touring the country and going to cities like Seattle, Los Angeles, San Diego, and Boston, with stops in the Midwest as well, reaching out to youth hockey teams and organizations, emphasizing that fostering inclusive environments is not just a moral imperative, it’s essential for the future of the sport.
“It’s a lot of work,” McGillis said. “There was one stretch where I worked 72 hours and was up for 64 of them. I’m putting in 12-plus-hour days on the road, minimum. But it’s been so worth it.”
McGillis’ approach is both deeply personal and highly practical. He shares his own journey not as an endpoint, but as a means to start conversations about being a “shift maker.” His goal is to empower young athletes to stand up against discrimination, to rethink their language, and to create a safer, more inclusive hockey culture.
“I challenge them to be brave,” McGillis explains. “To not laugh when someone’s being bullied, to stand up when someone gets picked on, to intervene when their teammates or friends do something harmful. It’s about being courageous in everyday situations.”
One of his key teaching methods involves three ways to create change, humanizing issues, shaping the environment, and focusing on language. Through team discussions, McGillis encourages players to open up in ways they often don’t.
“I ask them to tell me something about themselves,” he stated. “They always have two answers in their head, the surface-level one, and the one they’re afraid to share. I accept either, but they know which one they gave me, and we go from there.”
Since implementing this approach, McGillis has witnessed powerful moments of vulnerability that are transforming locker rooms.
“I’ve had players talk about self-harm. Others have admitted they hate pretending to laugh along at racist jokes. One player stood up and said, ‘I have a stutter. You guys make fun of me to the point where I don’t want to speak in public.’ These are things they’ve never said out loud before. And when they do, it changes everything,” McGillis pointed out.
The impact of the Shiftmakers Tour has been overwhelmingly positive. “We do surveys everywhere we go. The feedback is resoundingly good. I never expected the level of engagement I’ve gotten,” McGillis said. “It’s fueling me.”
What’s perhaps most surprising is that his message is resonating across political and cultural divides. “I’ve been in conservative areas, and I’ve had staunch Republicans in tears,” he noted. “It transcends politics. People are seeing the human impact of bullying and excluding someone.”
McGillis credits this success to his approach. “A friend of mine pointed out that we need more advocates who work from the inside to shift hearts and minds. Social media has created an environment where whoever yells the loudest gets the most influence. My approach is different. Even when people completely disagree with me, I don’t argue. I advocate.”
And it’s working. The NHL and NHLPA have supported McGillis for two years in a row. Teams in both the U.S. and Canada are on board. Coaches are seeing the change firsthand.
“We can’t create a safe space for LGBTQ+ players, BIPOC players, women, or disabled athletes if straight white kids are tearing each other down,” McGillis said. “This has to be a holistic approach. And once players recognize their privilege and understand how their behavior impacts others, it builds empathy. It creates a movement.”
The movement is growing beyond individual teams. Players who have participated in McGillis’ sessions are staying in touch, sending messages of gratitude, and sharing their experiences.
“There was a kid whose family is in Ukraine. He’s here playing hockey alone. At first, he shared something lighthearted: ‘I sing in the shower,’ he said.’ But after hearing his teammates open up, he went again: ‘I don’t know if my family is in a shelter or not. When I talk to them, I feel like I can’t be a kid. I can’t complain about hockey or school or friends because they’re dealing with so much worse.’”
McGillis paused for a moment, and reflected on that. “How does a kid go and bully someone like that after they share something that vulnerable? And how do his teammates ever mistreat him after hearing that?”
These moments are what drive McGillis forward. With each city he visits, each locker room conversation he sparks, the culture of hockey shifts. And as the Shiftmakers Tour continues to expand, he hopes to reach even more players, coaches, and communities.
“This isn’t just about hockey,” McGillis explained. “It’s about creating a world where everyone belongs.”
Utah became the first state to prohibit flying LGBTQ+ pride flags at schools and all government buildings after the Republican governor announced he was allowing a ban on unsanctioned flag displays to become law without his signature.
Gov. Spencer Cox, who made the announcement late Thursday night, said he continues to have serious concerns with the policy but chose not to reject it because his veto would likely be overridden by the Republican-controlled Legislature.
Starting May 7, state or local government buildings will be fined $500 a day for flying any flag other than the United States flag, the Utah state flag, military flags or a short list of others approved by lawmakers. Political flags supporting a certain candidate or party, such as President Donald Trump’s signature “Make America Great Again” flags, are not allowed.
The new law could stoke conflict between the state and its largest city. City buildings in liberal Salt Lake City typically honor Pride Month each June by displaying flags that celebrate its large LGBTQ+ population. Local leaders have illuminated the Salt Lake City and County Building in rainbow lights to protest the flag ban each night since the Legislature sent it to Cox’s desk.
Andrew Wittenberg, a spokesperson for Salt Lake City Mayor Erin Mendenhall’s office, said their attorneys are evaluating the law and the capital city does not yet have information on what it will do once the law takes effect.
The bill’s Republican sponsors, Rep. Trevor Lee and Sen. Dan McCay, said it’s meant to encourage “political neutrality” from teachers and other government employees. Opponents argued it aims to erase LGBTQ+ expression and take authority away from cities and towns that don’t align politically with the Republican Legislature.
In a letter to legislative leaders explaining his decision, Cox said he agreed with the “underlying intent” of the bill to make classrooms politically neutral but thought it went too far in regulating local governments. He also noted that by focusing narrowly on flags, the law does not prevent other political displays such as posters or lighting.
“To our LGBTQ community, I know that recent legislation has been difficult,” Cox said. “Politics can be a bit of a blood sport at times and I know we’ve had our disagreements. I want you to know that I love and appreciate you and I am grateful that you are part of our state. I know these words may ring hollow to many of you, but please know that I mean them sincerely.”
Cox’s decision came hours after the Sundance Film Festival announced it was leaving its home of four decades in Park City, Utah, for Boulder, Colorado. The flag bill created eleventh-hour tensions as some residents worried it would push the nation’s premier independent film festival out of state. Festival leaders said state politics ultimately did not influence their move from conservative Utah to liberal Colorado. They did, however, make “ethos and equity values” one of their criteria in a nationwide search for a new home and referred to Boulder in their announcement as a “welcoming environment.”
Utah’s flag law goes further than one signed last week in Idaho that only applies to schools. But Idaho Republicans are also advancing a separate bill to ban government buildings from displaying certain flags.
Florida lawmakers have advanced a proposal to ban pride flags and others that represent political viewpoints in schools and public buildings after similar measures failed in the past two legislative sessions. Some federal agencies, including the Department of Veterans Affairs, also have limited which flags can fly at their facilities.
Other flags permitted under the Utah law include Olympic and Paralympic flags, official college or university flags, tribal flags and historic versions of other approved flags that might be used for educational purposes.
Transgender people in Montana can no longer use bathrooms in public buildings that do not align with their sex assigned at birth after Republican Gov. Greg Gianforte signed new restrictions into law Thursday.
The law requires public buildings including the state Capitol, schools, jails, prisons, libraries and state-funded domestic violence shelters to provide separate spaces for men and women.
It defines the sexes in state law based on a person’s chromosomes and reproductive biology, even as a district court ruling earlier this year declared the definitions unconstitutional.
The new law also declares that there are only two sexes, male and female, going against a judge’s 2024 ruling that struck down that same definition.
Under the law, transgender people cannot use public restrooms, changing rooms and sleeping areas that align with their gender identity. The law does not explain how people in charge of public facilities should verify someone’s sex.
Rep. Kerri Seekins-Crowe, the Republican sponsor, said it was not meant to be exclusionary but to preserve safe spaces for women.
A transgender man who has undergone a medical transition to develop more masculine features such as facial hair, muscle definition and a deeper voice is now required by law to use the women’s restroom.
Republican lawmakers swiftly approved the measure despite vocal opposition from Democrats who worried it would complicate daily life for two fellow lawmakers who are transgender and nonbinary. Among them was Rep. Zooey Zephyr, the Missoula Democrat who was silenced and sanctioned by her Republican colleagues in 2023 for comments she made on the House floor.
Zephyr warned it would embolden some to police another person’s gender in public, which she said could create hostile situations for everyone.
The law allows people to sue a facility for not preventing transgender people from using a certain restroom or changing room. They can recover nominal damages, generally $1, and the entity could be required to pay the plaintiff’s legal fees.
On the campaign trail, Donald Trump used contentiousness around transgender people’s access to sports and bathrooms to fire up conservative voters and sway undecideds. And in his first months back in office, Trump has pushed the issue further, erasing mention of transgender people on government websites and passports and trying to remove them from the military.
It’s a contradiction of numbers that reveals a deep cultural divide: Transgender people make up less than 1% of the U.S. population, but they have become a major piece on the political chess board — particularly Trump’s.
For transgender people and their allies — along with several judges who have ruled against Trump in response to legal challenges — it’s a matter of civil rights for a small group. But many Americans believe those rights had grown too expansive.
The president’s spotlight is giving Monday’s Transgender Day of Visibility a different tenor this year.
“What he wants is to scare us into being invisible again,” said Rachel Crandall Crocker, the executive director of Transgender Michigan who organized the first Day of Visibility 16 years ago. “We have to show him we won’t go back.”
So why has this small population found itself with such an outsized role in American politics?
The focus on trans people is part of a long-running campaign
Trump’s actions reflect a constellation of beliefs that transgender people are dangerous, are men trying to get access to women’s spaces or are pushed into gender changes that they will later regret.
The American Academy of Pediatrics, the American Medical Association and other major medical groups have said that gender-affirming treatments can be medically necessary and are supported by evidence.
Zein Murib, an associate professor of political science and women’s, gender and sexuality studies at Fordham University, said there has been a decades-old effort “to reinstate Christian nationalist principles as the law of the land” that increased its focus on transgender people after a 2015 U.S. Supreme Court ruling recognizing same-sex marriage nationwide. It took a few years, but some of the positions gained traction.
One factor: Proponents of the restrictions lean into broader questions of fairness and safety, which draw more public attention.
Sports bans and bathroom laws are linked to protecting spaces for women and girls, even as studies have found transgender women are far more likely to be victims of violence. Efforts to bar schools from encouraging gender transition are connected to protecting parental rights. And bans on gender-affirming care rely partly on the idea that people might later regret it, though studies have found that to be rare.
Since 2020, about half the states passed laws barring transgender people from sports competitions aligning with their gender and have banned or restricted gender-affirming medical care for minors. At least 14 have adopted laws restricting which bathrooms transgender people can use in certain buildings.
In February, Iowa became the first state to remove protections for transgender people from civil rights law.
It’s not just political gamesmanship. “I think that whether or not that’s a politically viable strategy is second to the immediate impact that that is going to have on trans people,” Fordham’s Murib said.
Many voters think trans rights have gone too far
More than half of voters in the 2024 election — 55% — said support for transgender rights in the United States has gone too far, according to AP VoteCast. About 2 in 10 said the level of support has been about right, and a similar share said support hasn’t gone far enough.
Nevertheless, AP VoteCast also found voters were split on laws banning gender-affirming medical treatment, such as puberty blockers or hormone therapy, for minors. Just over half were opposed to these laws, while just under half were in favor.
Trump voters were overwhelmingly likely to say support for transgender rights has gone too far, while Kamala Harris’ voters were more divided. About 4 in 10 Harris voters said support for transgender rights has not gone far enough, while 36% said it’s been about right and about one-quarter said it’s gone too far.
A survey this year from the Pew Research Center found Americans, including Democrats, have become more slightly more supportive of requiring transgender athletes to compete on teams that match their sex at birth and more supportive on bans on gender-affirming medical care for transgender minors since 2022. Most Democrats still oppose those kinds of measures, though.
Leor Sapir, a fellow at Manhattan Institute, a right-leaning think tank, says Trump’s and Republicans’ positions have given them a political edge.
“They are putting their opponents, their Democratic opponents, in a very unfavorable position by having to decide between catering to their progressive, activist base or their median voter,” he said.
Not everyone agrees.
“People across the political spectrum agree that in fact, the major crises and major problems facing the United States right now is not the existence and civic participation of trans people,” said Olivia Hunt, director of federal policy for Advocates for Trans Equality.
And in the same election that saw Trump return to the presidency, Delaware voters elected Sarah McBride, the first transgender member of Congress.
The full political fallout remains to be seen
Paisley Currah, a political science professor at the City University of New York, said conservatives go after transgender people in part because they make up such a small portion of the population.
“Because it’s so small, it’s relatively unknown,” said Currah, who is transgender. “And then Trump has kind of used trans to signify what’s wrong with the left. You know: ‘It’s just too crazy. It’s too woke.’”
But Democratic politicians also know the population is relatively small, said Seth Masket, director of the Center on American Politics at the University of Denver, who is writing a book about the GOP.
“A lot of Democrats are not particularly fired up to defend this group,” Masket said, citing polling.
For Republicans, the overall support of transgender rights is evidence they are out of step with the times.
“The Democrat Party continues to find themselves on the wrong side of overwhelmingly popular issues, and it proves just how out of touch they are with Americans,” National Republican Congressional Committee spokesperson Mike Marinella said.
Some of that message may be getting through. In early March, California Gov. Gavin Newsom, a potential 2028 Democratic presidential candidate, launched his new podcast by speaking out against allowing transgender women and girls competing in women’s and girls sports.
And several other Democratic officials have said the party spends too much effort supporting transgender rights. Others, including U.S. Sen. Catherine Cortez Masto, have said they oppose transgender athletes in girls and women’s sports.
Jay Jones, the student government president at Howard University and a transgender woman, said her peers are largely accepting of transgender people.
“The Trump administration is trying to weaponize people of the trans experience … to help give an archenemy or a scapegoat,” she said. But “I don’t think that is going to be as successful as the strategy as he thinks that it will be.”
Each year, Rainbow Railroad receives more than ten thousand requests for help from LGBTQI+ individuals facing violence and persecution worldwide. These firsthand accounts provide unparalleled insight into the urgent realities of forced displacement and the systemic barriers preventing LGBTQI+ persons from accessing safety.
Our unique data not only informs direct interventions but also strengthens global advocacy. By analyzing trends in displacement, resettlement, and protection gaps, we advance policy solutions that challenge discriminatory asylum systems, push for inclusive refugee protections, and hold governments accountable.
At a time when anti-LGBTQI+ laws are intensifying and asylum pathways are shrinking, our work underscores a critical truth: the protection of LGBTQI+ refugees is a matter of fundamental human rights. The following policy recommendations outline urgent actions that states, international organizations, and multilateral bodies must take to ensure that LGBTQI+ forcibly displaced persons are not left behind.
Recommendations for states, international organizations, and multilateral bodies:
Strengthen partnerships with LGBTQI+ civil society by funding and supporting organizations with direct access to LGBTQI+ FDPs to enhance protection, service provision, and advocacy efforts.
Establish and expand dedicated LGBTQI+-specific resettlement pathways, including government-assisted and private sponsorship programs, to ensure sustainable and long-term protection solutions.
Develop targeted resettlement pathways for LGBTQI+ internally displaced persons (IDPs), recognizing that many remain at extreme risk within their countries of origin and require urgent solutions.
Implement flexible protection pathways for LGBTQI+ Human Rights Defenders (HRDs), offering both short-term emergency relocation and long-term resettlement options based on individual protection needs.
Hold states accountable for failing to meet international resettlement commitments and for undermining access to asylum, including through carrier sanctions and externalized border enforcement measures that disproportionately impact LGBTQI+ asylum seekers.
Increase funding for LGBTQI+ civil society organizations and regional networks to strengthen in-transit support systems and develop durable South-South resettlement pathways.
Appoint and empower Special Envoys on LGBTQI+ issues within key states and multilateral bodies to coordinate international responses to LGBTQI+ forced displacement.
Strengthen crisis response mechanisms by integrating LGBTQI+ protection into broader humanitarian frameworks, ensuring that LGBTQI+ FDPs are not overlooked in emergency response planning.
Expand multilateral coordination efforts, including investing in mechanisms such as the Queer Forced Displacement Initiative (QFDI), to enhance knowledge-sharing, capacity-building, and policy development across international actors.
If faith is a journey, Reverend Caroline Morison has taken the scene route—one with a few unexpected detours, a military escort, and a very well-placed tube of mascara.
Long before she was among the first openly enlisted transgender soldiers in the U.S. Army National Guard, Caroline was an “Army brat” raised on duty, discipline, and a globe-spanning childhood. She grew up with a calling to both serve and care. So, Morrison joined the Army’s Chaplain Corps straight out of high school. While most of us were still figuring out how to microwave ramen without starting a fire, Caroline was deploying, serving, and wrestling with a God she hadn’t met yet.
“I wasn’t exactly mature enough to be on my own,” she laughed, recounting her early days in active duty. “Let’s just say I was sewing some wild oats.”
Those oats eventually sprouted into a life lived at the intersection of faiths. As a Religious Affairs Specialist, Caroline ensured the freedom of religious expression for every soldier, whether they were Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Pagan, or simply unsure. In those quiet moments of service, her theology began to shift. “God is where God is sought,” she told me. “It doesn’t have to be Christian. It’s where anyone is asking questions. That’s where God is.”
But Caroline’s questions of self didn’t begin in a pew or a deployment tent. They started in a dictionary.
“Before YouTube, there was the dictionary,” she joked. It was in those pages, somewhere between tranquilize and transubstantiation, that she found the word transgender. “It scared the daylights out of me,” she said. “I was Southern Baptist at the time. That word wasn’t okay. But it was me.”
Cue the mascara.
Wearing it got her in trouble. Keeping it hidden almost destroyed her. “I spent a week in the psych ward at the VA hospital after trying to end my life,” she shared, her voice steady. “They found my clothes. Called me Corporal Klinger. My dad even got a call from my first sergeant.” Yet, by some miracle–or perhaps grace–none of it showed up in her discharge paperwork. Which meant she could come back.
And she did.
In 2016, as President Obama lifted the ban on transgender military service, Caroline was already deep in seminary, falling in love with a God who didn’t wasn’t a punishing or judgmental deity. She came out in 2017; sadly, a month after coming out, President Trump tweeted his first ban. “It was a lot of everything,” she sighed. Still, Caroline persisted. She was among the first openly enlisted trans soldiers to navigate a military system, one with no roadmaps and little understanding. There was a heartbreaking moment during a session with her fellow chaplains. “All of us got together for a training, and I listened to [them] talk about what they could and couldn’t do,” she reflected. “What their denominations wouldn’t allow them to do and would allow them to do for transgender people.” It hurt. Deeply.
But she reminded me, “Can’t say that everyone is created in the image of God if I’m not willing to look for the image of God in everyone.”
Still, one of the most poignant moments in her journey came not in combat boots but in heels.
At an annual St. Barbara’s Day military banquet, with grog flowing and medals gleaming, she spotted Kansas State Representative Pat Proctor, the man who had recently voted to override the governor’s veto of the so-called Women’s Bill of Rights, a piece of legislation that stripped trans people of legal protections.
But Caroline gave him her hand instead of giving him the cold shoulder.
“We’re Iraq veterans,” she noted. Realizing she had an opportunity to show him someone beyond the tropes, she wanted to show him a trans veteran who served with distinction. She walked up confidently and shook his hand. “I just did my best to actually speak…I knew I had a very limited time to actually say something that meant anything.” Caroline didn’t know until later, but her wife snapped a photo of that moment.
For someone who has stood at pulpits and podiums, heard the worst from chaplains, and preached the best from God, it was a moment of radical grace.
I asked Caroline what message she wanted to share on today’s Trans Day of Visibility. Her response is soulful and inspiring. “It’s not a closet–it’s a chrysalis,” she says without missing a beat. “They try to make it a closet, but no. We grow, we change, we become new beings. And once we break free, there’s no putting us back.”
These days, Rev. Morrison is a hospice chaplain, preacher, and theologian who professes a more liberating vision of a God who holds multitudes—genders and transitions. She is also finishing a book on transgender liberation theology. And she’s still showing up for every trans person who hasn’t yet stepped out of their chrysalis.
Because Caroline Morrison isn’t just visible; she’s radiant. And we should follow suit. The bravest thing we can do is show up in our complicated, mascara-wearing truth.
Welcome to the latest edition of Heroes of the Resistance — GLAAD’s ongoing series highlighting positive changemakers for the LGBTQ community at a time of challenge and uncertainty.
In a significant recent victory, Senate Democrats came together unanimously to halt legislation at the federal level that would have banned federally-funded schools from allowing transgender girls to participate in sports, calling it a distraction intended to harm a small group of people. The bill, pushed forward by Republicans, had mirrored a dangerous executive order issued by President Trump that perpetuates myths and disinformation about transgender Americans. GLAAD’s fact sheet on transgender people in sports is here, outlining facts versus myths and the truth about commonly asked questions.
In Minnesota, lawmakers rejected a bill that also would have banned transgender girls from playing school sports. The defeat of the bill came as advocates spoke out about its discriminatory nature and slippery slope in harming not just transgender girls, but all girls who play sports. “This bill creates a path for intense scrutiny and harassment for the 200,000 Minnesota girls who currently play sports ages 5 to 18,” said Rep. Julie Greene, DFL-Edina, dispelling the misconception that banning transgender girls from sports would somehow make sports more safe for cisgender girls. “This bill puts all girls at risk,” she concludes. The Minnesota High School League has allowed transgender students to participate on teams for a decade without incident. Minnesota attorney general Keith Ellison agrees with killing the bill and fighting any federal effort to interfere in Minnesota’s human rights law, which Ellison says supersedes any attempt by the federal government to roll back protections for trans students.
Rev. Terri Burnor protests at the Minnesota State Capitol / Ellen Schmidt, MPR News
In Montana, out transgender state representatives Zooey Zephyr and SJ Howell gave impassioned speeches on the House floor early this month in opposition to two extreme bills that would have removed transgender youth from their families and banned certain types of expression and participation at Pride marches and drag shows. “I am here to stand before the body and say that my life is not a fetish,” said Representative Zephyr, in response to disrespectful comments by the bill’s sponsor about transgender people. “When I go to walk [my son] to school, that’s not a lascivious display. That is not a fetish. That is my family.”
An impressive 29 Republicans broke party ranks in order to support the defeat of the bills. Representative Sherry Essman, a Republican, rose to defend Rep. Zephyr and chastised the bill’s sponsor. ‘I’m speaking as a parent and a grandmother. And I’m very emotional because I know the representative in seat 20 is also a parent. No matter what you think of that, she is doing her best to raise a child. I did my best to raise my children as I saw fit, and I’m taking it for granted that my children are going to raise my grandchildren as they see fit,’ she said.
“Everybody in here talks about how important parental rights are. I want to tell you, in addition to parental rights, parental responsibility is also important. And if you can’t trust a decent parent to decide where and when their kids should see what, then we have a bigger problem. … “Trust the parents to do what’s right, and stop these crazy bills that are a waste of time. They’re a waste of energy,” said Essman.
These steps forward represent the power of conversations, organizing, and efforts to build understanding around transgender people and LGB people more broadly. These efforts have also led to victories against Trump’s executive orders that blatantly discriminate against LGBTQ people, immigrants, women, and people of color.
Rep. Zephyr and Rep. Howell / Brittany Peterson, AP
Since Trump took office, multiple federal judges of all political affiliations have blocked enforcement and/or struck down these orders on the merits. Four federal judges to date have blocked Trump’s attempt to end birthright citizenship in the country. Two federal courts have blocked his ban on lifesaving health care for transgender youth 19 years old and younger; and another judge has blocked the dangerous transfer of transgender women inmates to male prisons that would have aligned with Trump’s effort to erase transgender people from federal law. A preliminary injunction has been issued against Trump’s anti-DEI executive orders seeking to eliminate important progress for marginalized communities.
Most recently, a federal court granted a preliminary injunction blocking enforcement of Trump’s executive order targeting transgender service members. In the opinion, U.S. District Court Judge Ana Reyes stated that “thousands of transgender servicemembers have sacrificed—some risking their lives—to ensure for others the very equal protection rights the Military Ban seeks to deny them.” Judge Reyes held that banning transgender service members from the military violates the equal protection clause of the U.S. Constitution because it is discrimination based on transgender status and sex; and because “it is soaked in animus.”Judge Reyes continued: “Its language is unabashedly demeaning, its policy stigmatizes transgender persons as inherently unfit, and its conclusions bear no relation to fact.”
In Massachusetts, the city of Worcester approved a measure declaring the second-largest city in Massachusetts a sanctuary city for the transgender community. The move came in response to Trump’s executive order attempting to administratively erase transgender people under federal law. “I don’t care what your beliefs are, but to take the word ‘transgender’ out of the vocabulary in the federal government is just plain wrong,” Mayor Joseph Petty said. This makes Worcester at least the third city in the U.S. to pass such a measure.
In a sign of proactive movement in Washington State, Governor Bob Ferguson announced a new policy to speed up the efficiency of document changes for transgender and nonbinary people, which previously could take up to ten months: “Very proud to announce the Department of Health will now process all requests to change gender designation on birth certificates within three business days.”
The Rev. Dr. Mark Suriano, pastor at the First Congregational Church UCC in Park Ridge, New Jersey, didn’t hesitate to speak out in support of the full breadth of his community in a letter to the Central Atlantic Conference United Church of Christ following inflammatory comments and threats to his congregation spurred by online harassment from the so-called Moms for LIberty – a designated hate group according to the Southern Poverty Law Center and a long history of anti-LGBTQ extremism documented by GLAAD. In his letter, Rev. Suriano quoted the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. “We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly.” Despite the hateful incident on his congregants, Rev. Suriano expressed hope and gratitude for his community coming together stronger than ever. “I remain emotional about this physical manifestation of the ‘inescapable network of mutuality’ and the ‘seamless garment of destiny’ of which Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke. I also am overwhelmed by the beautiful truth that what affects one of us directly affects all of us indirectly,” he expressed.
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Ana Esquivel no longer feels like her heart stops every time she sees a police officer.
“We’ve been told that they won’t harass or mistreat us here, but back home, if a male name is spotted on your ID, you could spend the night detained,” said the 50-year-old transgender woman. She fled Cuba fearing for her safety and arrived in Mexico earlier this year.
Esquivel settled in the southern city of Tapachula, hoping to dodge the Trump’s administration crackdown on migration and reach the United States. But unlike many who turned back after their Border Patrol appointments got canceled, returning home is not an option for LGBTQ migrants.
Transgender women Rachel Perez, left, and Ana Esquivel, who applied for asylum in Mexico, at Casa Frida.Moises Castillo / AP
“The LGBT population doesn’t necessarily leave their countries for the same reasons as others,” said Mariana de la Cruz, operations director at Casa Frida, a shelter that supports LGBTQ migrants and lost 60% of its funds after President Donald Trump ordered the suspension of foreign assistance programs in January.
“They leave due to discrimination and violence based on their gender identity,” de la Cruz said. “Beyond economic reasons or the American Dream, they leave because they need to survive.”
The flux of migrants at the Southern Mexican border with Guatemala dipped after Trump announced plans to restrict refugees and asylum seekers, contending he wants to stop illegal entry and border crime. The Mexican Commission for Refugee Aid in Tapachula has not updated its public data since December 2024, but the transformation is clear.
Hundreds of migrants no longer flood a public square, waiting for a response to their refugee applications. And though lines still form around the commission’s headquarters, locals say the crowds are smaller.
At a nearby Catholic shelter, administrator Herber Bermúdez said they have hosted up to 1,700 migrants at a time, but it’s closer to 300 with the shutdown of CBP One, the U.S. border app that facilitated legal entry into the country.
“The change was substantial,” Bermúdez said. “By Jan. 20, we had around 1,200 people, but as the app stopped working, people started heading back to their countries.”
In contrast, help requests addressed to Casa Frida have not dropped.
“All of the people we support were victims of violence,” said Sebastián Rodríguez, who works at the shelter. “They can’t go back.”
In Tapachula since 2022, Casa Frida staff review on average 80 applications per month, assessing the most at-risk. According to Rodríguez, nonbinary and transgender migrants are frequently vulnerable to attacks.
Itzel Aguilar teaches English to migrants at Casa Frida in Tapachula.Moises Castillo / AP
The shelter doesn’t have enough resources to help everyone, but they bring on about 70 new people monthly and can support up to 200 LGBTQ people at any given time.
Several migrants recently told The Associated Press they were kidnapped by cartel members as they set foot in Mexico and had to give up their possessions to be released.
LGBTQ people face more violence, Rodríguez said. Transgender women often dress as men to avoid mockery and being spotted by criminals. If they are spared and reach a shelter, staff assign them to male dorms. If they leave and try to rent a room elsewhere, landlords seem unhospitable or demand unthinkable fees.
“That’s why programs like ours are needed,” Rodríguez said.
According to the shelter, about 40% of its population was affected by the end of CBP One app and the mass cancellation of appointments.
“Some people feel discouraged and hopeless,” Rodríguez said. “But many have applied for asylum in Mexico.”
Among its services, Casa Frida can provide a roof and meals for up to 12 people for three months. The organization’s other programs can help several more migrants by providing legal guidance on remaining in Mexico, advice on finding temporary jobs with inclusive environments, psychological counseling and tips for renting apartments under fair conditions.
“Most people just think of us as a shelter, but providing refuge is only the core of what we do,” Rodríguez said. “Our goal is to reintegrate violence victims into society.”
The shelter operates in three locations: Mexico City, where it was founded in 2020 and mostly supports locals; Tapachula, which mainly receives migrants from Cuba, Honduras, Venezuela, El Salvador, Perú and Haiti; and Monterrey, where those at grave risk are transferred to be safe at an undisclosed address.
Cuban Rasiel Elias Fernandez cooks at Casa Frida in Mexico City last year.Alfredo Estrella / AFP via Getty Images
Manuel Jiménez, 21, was welcomed at the Mexico City station in February. He arrived from a state near the capital when harassment by family members became unbearable.
Jiménez initially hoped to reach the U.S. and he traveled north in November 2024. All went well until border patrol officers detained him in Arizona and he was deported. But it was dangerous for him to stay in his hometown.
“Someone told me about this shelter because I wanted to find a place where I could feel at peace,” said Jiménez, who identifies as bisexual. “Back home, there were people who wanted to hurt me, verbally and physically.”
Now living at Casa Frida, he started working at a nearby restaurant and hopes to save money that will enable him to find a home of his own.
Back in Tapachula, Esquivel applied for Mexican refugee status. Around 85% of Casa Frida’s migrants get a positive response, so she’s optimistic. Maybe one day, she hopes, she could go back to school, land a job and relocate.
“I want to stay here and become part of this country,” Esquivel said. “I want to do it the right way and I’m grateful to Casa Frida for helping me get there.”
She learned about the shelter from another trans woman who also fled Cuba after feeling threatened by police.
“I was nearly arrested,” said Rachel Pérez, 51. “In Cuba, we are discriminated and persecuted. We leave in search for a better life.”
According to Esquivel, she was accused of prostitution — which is not illegal under Cuban law — for repeatedly walking alone at night. Police warned her a few times, but she kept going out until she was detained and transferred to a male prison.
“I was raped there,” said Esquivel, who remained imprisoned for a year. “I was only 21 and the inmates abused me. Within time, I learned how to defend myself, but those were very difficult times I won’t forget.”
Staff at Casa Frida constantly updates their protocols to help migrants like Esquivel. But keeping operations running has proved challenging due to the U.S. aid cuts. According to De la Cruz, worrisome notifications popped by Jan. 24, and a few weeks later, 60% of their budget was gone.
“We’ve been looking everywhere to find new sustainability alternatives,” she said. “We are part of a network focused on LGBT mobility in Latin America and the Caribbean — 13 organizations in 10 countries — and at least 50% of them took a hit.”
Funding campaigns and ongoing meetings with European and local leaders might bring a solution, but concerns haven’t ceased and the team could significantly diminish its operations.
“Nothing is written in stone and we don’t know what could happen next,” De la Cruz said.
