Idaho Gov. Brad Little signed into law a bill that criminalizes transgender people for using bathrooms that align with their gender identity rather than their assigned sex at birth, including in private businesses. Little signed the bill Tuesday afternoon — just as demonstrators rallied on the Capitol steps in Boise for Transgender Day of Visibility.

The law takes effect July 1.

House Bill 752 allows the government to charge people who “knowingly and willfully” enter bathrooms that do not align with their assigned sex at birth with jail time, making this the most restrictive bathroom bill in the nation. The vote had no issue passing in the Republican supermajority-controlled legislature, with 54 ayes and 15 nays in the House and 28 ayes and 7 nays in the Senate.

The bill applies to government-owned buildings and places of public accommodation, including any business (either publicly or privately owned) or space that is open to the public and offers goods, services, or facilities. These include restaurants (bars, cafes), lodging (hotels, motels, inns), entertainment and recreational spaces (gyms, theaters, sports venues, pools), healthcare and service buildings (hospitals, clinics, professional offices), and transportation-related spaces (including airports and bus stations).

A first offense carries a misdemeanor, punishable by up to one year in prison. A second offense, or any additional offense within five years, is a felony, punishable by up to five years in prison.

The bill’s sponsor, Coeur d’Alene Republican Sen. Ben Toews, said it reflects the “common sense realities” that Idahoans have — despite the issue not being “common sense” enough to be included in the state Republican Party’s official platform.

Republican legislators have deemed this, and similar measures restricting bathroom access to a person’s sex at birth, a matter of “protecting privacy and safety,” according to a similar measure passed earlier this year. Yet this claim contradicts statements from officials working to protect safety, as well as available data on the matter — there is no evidence that trans individuals accessing gender-aligned bathrooms are a threat to safety or privacy.

This expansive and invasive legislative action appears to contradict what Gov. Brad Little says he and his party stand for. On his website, Little touts his efforts to remove red tape for Idahoans, saying they have “cut or simplified 95-percent of regulations” since 2019. Signing legislation that effectively requires policing who can use which bathroom runs counter to that goal — and, unlike the transgender bathroom bill, reducing government regulation is part of the party’s official platform.

“We believe the growth of government is unnecessary and has a negative impact on both the conduct of business and our individual lives,” the Idaho Republican Party platform reads. “We endorse the review of all government programs and encourage their assumption by private enterprise where appropriate and workable. Programs which are outside of government’s constitutional obligations, not cost effective, or have outlived their usefulness should be terminated.”

The Idaho Fraternal Order of Police President, Bryan Lovell, wrote a letter to the legislature that having the responsibility to check a person’s sex at birth fall to police “presents significant practical enforcement challenges for law enforcement officers in the field.”

“In many circumstances, there is no clear or reasonable way for officers to make that determination without engaging in questioning or investigative actions that could be viewed as invasive and inappropriate,” the letter said.

Sen. Ron Taylor, a Democrat from Hailey, said House Bill 752 is about discrimination. He said constituents told him they would move out of Idaho if it passed — because it would throw their transgender children in jail.

“Now maybe that’s what some of us want, is to chase a population that’s marginalized out of Idaho,” Taylor said. “But that’s not Idaho. Idaho was founded by a population that was marginalized.”

Idaho’s American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) went even farther to criticize the Little’s signature on House Bill 752, arguing the legislation does the opposite of its stated goal of reducing risks to the privacy and dignity of every Idahoan.

“The bill does nothing to address real criminal acts, such as sexual assault or voyeurism,” a statement from the organization founded in 1988 read. “As cisgender people who do not conform to rigid gender norms could face accusations, harassment, and arrest for using a public restroom.”

In addition to creating a criminal issue where there was none, the legislation opens up a Pandora’s box of litigation that taxpayers would ultimately have to pay for.

“When public institutions and local businesses are forced to engage in these expensive and unnecessary lawsuits, taxpayers and customers foot the bill,” the ACLU added.

Advocates for sexual health and gender freedom have called this legislation a full assault on transgender people’s right to exist in public, saying bills like this trigger harassment, increase violence against transgender people, and impose criminal penalties for not conforming to traditional gender roles.

Planned Parenthood Alliance Advocates Idaho called the bill “the most extreme anti-transgender bathroom ban in the nation.”

This is not the only anti-LGBTQ action the governor has taken. He signed a bill earlier that morning to fine cities for flying the LGBTQ+ pride flag, which, according to Idaho Capital Sun, was retaliatory action against Boise’s City Council for a vote last year declaring the pride flag and the organ donor flag as official flags — a workaround to a previous state flag ban the Legislature passed last year.

Boise Mayor Lauren McLean said the city had been flying the pride flag for a decade, but will remove it for the time being to prevent a fine that would “ultimately fall on the taxpayers of Boise to shoulder.”

“But let me be clear: Boise’s values have not changed, and they are not defined by any single action taken at the Statehouse,” McLean said after removing the Pride flag from the official pole.

This approach to LGBTQ poltics reflects a broader trend among Republicans in power in the state. In 2020, Idaho became the first state to ban transgender girls and women from competing on sports teams that align with their gender identity, which is currently being challenged in the United States Supreme Court. In 2023, state lawmakers made it a felony for doctors to provide gender-affirming health care to transgender youth. In 2024, lawmakers expanded the ban to apply to taxpayer funds and government property, forbidding Medicaid from covering gender-affirming care.

Longtime Washington Blade Editor Kevin Naff will be inducted into D.C.’s Society of Professional Journalists Hall of Fame in June, the group announced this week.

Hall of Fame honorees are chosen by the Society of Professional Journalists’ Washington, D.C., Pro Chapter. Naff and two other inductees — Seth Borenstein, a Washington-based national science writer for the AP and Cheryl W. Thompson, an award-winning correspondent for National Public Radio — will be celebrated at the chapter’s Dateline Awards dinner on Tuesday, June 9, at the National Press Club. The dinner’s emcee will be Kojo Nnamdi, host of WAMU radio’s weekly “Politics Hour.”

“I am tremendously honored by this recognition,” Naff said. “I have spent a lifetime in the D.C. area learning from so many talented journalists and am humbled to be considered in their company. Thank you to SPJ and to all the LGBTQ pioneers who came before me who made this possible.”

Naff joined the Blade in 2002 after years in print and digital journalism. He worked as a financial reporter for Reuters in New York before moving to Baltimore in 1996 to launch the Baltimore Sun’s website. He spent four years at the Sun before leaving for an internet startup and later joining the mobile data group at Verizon Wireless working on the first generation of mobile apps.

He then moved to the Blade and has served as the publication’s longest-tenured editor. In 2023, Naff published his first book, “How We Won the War for LGBTQ Equality — And How Our Enemies Could Take It All Away.”

Previous Hall of Fame inductees include luminaries in journalism like Wolf Blitzer, Benjamin Bradlee, Bob Woodward, Andrea Mitchell, and Edgar Allen Poe. The Blade’s senior news reporter Lou Chibbaro Jr. was inducted in 2015. 

It was never meant to become something big.

When I say that I created the first pro-neurodiversity self-advocacy group in Russia and Ukraine, made by autistic people for autistic people, everyone imagines something grand. But it wasn’t. We had three blogs. One of them was updated every day at first, then every two days, with original translations of blog posts, personal stories, and studies about autism and neurodiversity, as well as articles written by our autistic followers.

We held a peer support group meeting once every two weeks, provided one-to-one peer support online, and sometimes offered legal and psychological advice. We also organized workshops for solicitors, psychologists, and social workers, took part in public protests, and distributed free materials.

But all of it was just me and volunteers that were coming and leaving. We had some donations, but we never had any grants while I was living in Russia, nor any sponsors. We have never had an office. The biggest support we received came from our subscribers, most of whom were queer, and from LGBTQ groups.

And here is the important part of the story: from the very beginning, we were LGBTQ-friendly, and queer people played a key role in the existence of my Autistic Initiative for Civil Rights.

Today, on World Autism Acceptance Day, I want to tell a story about how the autistic self-advocacy community in Russia, Ukraine, the U.S, Australia and the UK worked side by side with the LGBTQ movement — and how LGBTQ autistic people changed the pro-neurodiversity movement, using my personal journey and the story of one group as an example.

When I was 17, I started to realize that I might be autistic. There wasn’t much information about autism in my home city, Donetsk, in Ukraine — most post-Soviet psychiatrists believed that autism was a form of childhood schizophrenia, and my parents believed that my autistic behavior was the devil’s work. It wouldn’t be surprising to say they thought the same about my queerness.

So I started digging online, and from the very beginning, the work of three amazing queer autistic authors stood out to me.

Jim Sinclair, a pioneer of the modern pro-neurodiversity movement and the leader of one of the first autistic self-advocacy groups Autistic Network International, is an openly intersex person.

Ly Xīnzhèn Zhǎngsūn Brown is a queer, nonbinary transgender activist who developed an educational program about autism for police in the U.S. Like me, they grew up among intensely conservative and religious people and were interested in the Middle East and politics.

And finally, Julia Bascom, a lesbian woman, wrote the essay “Quiet Hands” about stimming, which deeply resonated with teenage me after my parents’ constant attempts to make my body language more “normal.”

These were people whose writing saved me from suicidal thoughts created by toxic ideas promoted in the Russian- and Ukrainian-language internet at the time — the idea that autistic people are a burden and would never be accepted as they are.

These amazing American queer autistics also made me question my own queerphobic thoughts. At the time, I was an extremely religious Christian, with severe OCD around prayer and a constant fear of going to hell. For the first time, I read statistics showing that autistic people are more likely to be queer. Actually, now we know that they are up to six times more likely to be trans and nearly three times more likely to be LGB. 

As a young person who had decided to make autism acceptance the work of my life, I began to think that maybe it wasn’t so frightening to be openly queer. After all, if I believed that God never made mistakes and that I was destined to be autistic, then perhaps some people were destined to be queer as well.

When Donetsk was occupied by pro-Russian forces in 2014, and my family moved to Russia (political consistency had never been their strong point), I moved in with my autistic best friend in St. Petersburg, who later became my wife.

And so, away from my abusive parents, my work in autism advocacy began. But it was autistic activists who helped me to realise that I’m queer and accept it.

LGBTQ activists were our first real supporters. My first public speech about autistic acceptance was at a Rainbow Tea meeting, a space for LGBTQ teenagers. Our autistic peer support group took place in LGBT community center, such as the Coming Out group in St. Petersburg (now recognized as an extremist organization), and the Deystvie community center.

The Alliance of Heterosexuals and LGBT for Equality was our main partner in organising autistic public actions and protests, contacting Russian liberal media, and, finally, I became one of the leaders of the first Russian LGBTQ-disability group, Queer Peace. It worked side by side with my autistic informational projects, organizing workshops and masterclasses for solicitors, psychologists, and LGBTQ group leaders to bring inclusion into LGBTQ services.

Meanwhile, autism initiatives led by non-autistic people and supporters of social Darwinism were often strongly homophobic or considered work with the LGBTQ community — or support for LGBTQ autistic people — to be “unbeneficial.”

Of course, even within Russian LGBTQ organizations, it wasn’t all inclusive. Many high-ranking LGBTQ leaders in Russia are still ableist, at least on an everyday level. But when LGBTQ community in the West began moving towards disability inclusion, post-Soviet countries followed that trend. 

More importantly, my LGBTQ-autistic projects were supported by other autistic queer people, including folks from Indigenous nations under Russian control, people from villages, and those from unsupportive families.

Autistic queer people in Ukraine soon started their own — often stronger — work in promoting neurodiversity and LGBTQ rights, both within LGBTQ communities and in wider society. In part, this was because they knew Ukrainian much better than I did. Although I understand Ukrainian and can use it, it has never been my mother tongue. 

Also, a Russian vlogger and autism support group leader, Jarry, a trans autistic person, began creating the first accessible video materials about autism, sharing many stories from the perspective of autistic AFAB people.

More and more autistic people in post-Soviet countries began to argue that autism is wrongly framed as a disorder, even if it can be a disability due to the misunderstanding and discrimination autistic people face — and queer people were ahead of this shift.

Finally, Bascom, the same American autistic lesbian who inspired me as a teenager and later the executive director of the Autistic Self-Advocacy Network, began mentoring our translation projects, including brochures and free books from English into Russian. The Autistic Women and Nonbinary Network, one of the most trans-inclusive and intersectional groups in the U.S., also showed us full support.

In Australia, Beinannon Lee, an autistic lesbian raising children with her wife, helped us share parenting advice for post-Soviet autistic parents and parents of autistic children. As part of the Autistic Family Collective, she opened new perspectives on homeschooling for neurodivergent families worldwide, while also showing that same-sex couples can be deeply supportive and respectful parents.

When I was stuck in Israel for four months while trying to obtain an American visa, the first organisation that supported my autistic initiative was an LGBTQ group in Tel Aviv that also supported Palestinian refugees and refugees from African countries. In the UK, Lesbian Asylum Support Sheffield was the first LGBTQ group I connected with — and the first to ask me to help with inclusion. Autistic UK, an autistic-led organization, was the first autistic group I worked with here and showed strong queer inclusivity.

And if you go to Trans Day of Remembrance events or trans protests in Sheffield, you will see just how many autistic activists are there.

In my 11 years of LGBTQ and autism activism, I have seen how much autistic and LGBTQ people have done for each other — and how those who are both queer and autistic continue to fight for their rights. It is something stronger than borders, stronger than any one country’s direction. Now, when politicians around the world are arguing against the rights of trans people to be themselves, attacking LGBTQ rights, and trying to dehumanize autistic people and take away our agency, we need to remember this — and stay together.