National
Trans women in state prisons on being targeted by Trump
Uncloseted Media spoke with five incarcerated trans women in state prisons
Uncloseted Media published this article on Dec. 3.
Editor’s Note: This article includes references to topics such as rape, sexual assault, and violence. Reader discretion is advised.
By HOPE PISONI | Being a transgender woman in prison has always been hard for Lexie Handlang. At 38 years old, she’s a writer for the Prison Journalism Project and is currently working on a kids’ fantasy book starring a young trans girl and her friend who encounter a mysterious magical being.
Handlang has been incarcerated in men’s prisons in Missouri for 11 years, where she says she’s experienced a great deal of violence and discrimination.
She says her fears today are at an all-time high. After Trump passed an executive order on his first day in office that rolled back a suite of the scant and hard-won rights of trans women in federal prisons, Handlang remembers prison staff gleefully gloating.
“Transgenders don’t exist no more.”
“It’s not a thing.”
“I’m not gonna call you by your preferred pronouns.”
“I’m gonna call you ‘sir.’”
The executive order, titled “Defending Women from Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government,” includes a mandate requiring trans women to be housed in men’s prisons and a ban on the use of federal funds for gender-affirming care.
The following month, the Bureau of Prisons issued a memo banning gender-affirming items like chest binders and undergarments and requiring staff to refer to incarcerated people by their “legal name or pronouns corresponding to their biological sex.”
While the order does not apply to state prison systems, Uncloseted Media spoke with five trans women incarcerated in three different states who say Trump’s crackdown has created a trickle-down effect. They say it has produced a climate where staff are ramping up their mistreatment of trans women, federal grants for prisons are at risk as the Trump administration feuds with states, and anti-trans propaganda is turning fellow prisoners against them.
“There’s a lot of wardens who’ve been waiting for this — the discrimination has increased and it’s not anything new,” says Kenna Barnes, advocacy manager at Black and Pink, a nonprofit focused on prison abolition and the rights of incarcerated trans people. “It’s happening in every faction of the carceral system, and they are getting very emboldened, and this is a cue for them.”
Escalating attacks
Even though the Trump administration can’t force anti-trans policies on state prisons, they have still been pushing for them. In April, the Department of Justice pulled $1.4 million in funds from Maine’s Department of Corrections, the bulk of which had been allocated to support a substance use treatment program for all incarcerated people. The funding was pulled in retaliation for continuing to allow a trans woman, Andrea Balcer, to be housed in the women’s section of the Maine Correctional Center.
“You asked my feelings on being in the center of this feud between Trump and Maine — I am not in the center, I am underneath the feet of these two giants colliding, a mecha and a kaiju if you will,” Balcer, 24, told Uncloseted Media in a phone interview from the prison. “So I am not so much the center as I am collateral damage.”
Balcer was transferred to the women’s section of the prison in November 2023 due to concerns about her safety in men’s prisons, which are notoriously dangerous for trans women.
She spends much of her time playing Pathfinder, a role-playing game based on Dungeons & Dragons, and has been trying to start a group to host discussions on paganism and monthly full-moon rituals.
Balcer says she tries to keep a low profile and was getting along fairly well with her fellow prisoners after a period of adjustment.
But that changed when Attorney General Pam Bondi bullied her on Fox and Friends by calling her a “giant, 6-foot-1, 245-pound guy” and claimed that funding cuts “will protect women in prisons.” Balcer says some women at the facility turned on her and started to parrot Bondi’s rhetoric about a “man in a woman’s prison.”
“The cultural backlash has been astounding,” she says. “And it’s not that I don’t understand these women — I 100 percent understand their position. Things that have helped them and things that have done so many good things for them are being taken away, and they’re angry, as they have every right to be. But they can’t take out their anger on the people who quite frankly deserve it, [so] they take out their anger on the people that are the indirect cause of this.”
While Balcer says things have slightly improved since Maine successfully appealed the funding cuts, life is still much harder under Trump 2.0.
And she’s not the only trans woman who has a target on her back. Michelle Kailani Calvin was housed at the Central California Women’s Facility since the state’s Transgender Respect, Agency and Dignity Act — which she advocated for — passed in 2021. The act allowed trans women to be housed in women’s facilities.
Calvin, 54, was one of several trans women whose photos were included in a consequential advertisement for Trump’s 2024 campaign, which criticized Kamala Harris for supporting gender-affirming surgery in California prisons and included the infamous slogan “Kamala’s for they/them, not you.”
Difficulty accessing gender-affirming care
While gender-affirming surgeries in prison are still legally accessible in California, Calvin told Uncloseted Media via a phone call from CCWF that she has found it “very difficult … to get any kind of care” since Trump’s reelection.
She says she was scheduled for facial feminization surgery and a revision to her bottom surgery earlier this year to address complications including pain, bladder leakage and intense bleeding. Staff kept delaying them, however, claiming that she hadn’t passed a psychiatric evaluation and that she had a “dirty” toxicology report. According to Calvin, the substance that had been flagged was prescription gabapentin.
Calvin believes this foot-dragging is due to the Trump administration’s threats to cut funding, as they did with Maine.
“This is the game that the institution plays. Instead of just saying, ‘We’re not giving you a surgery because Trump ain’t giving us our money,’” she says.
Emboldened staff
Beyond having limited access to health care, Calvin says trans women face emboldened staff in Trump’s new America. In her case, this has involved increased scrutiny: After three years of no rule violations, she says she was hit with five in the span of four months.
She says several of those cases were provoked by abuse from guards. In one instance, which was documented in a report reviewed by Uncloseted Media, a guard forcefully removed her from her wheelchair and slammed her on the ground after he squeezed her shoulder without consent. She was later written up for resisting an officer.
And in March, the prison began investigating Calvin on allegations that she had assaulted her partner, who is also incarcerated. This led the prison to file a case with the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation’s Departmental Review Board to have her moved to a men’s prison.
Calvin says that numerous advocacy groups then sent letters to CDCR calling on them to reject the push. One lawyer, Jen Orthwein, wrote that “claims made against Ms. Calvin were submitted long after the alleged event by unnamed confidential informants, with no supporting documentation or medical evidence” and that the alleged victim “has indicated that the accusations are entirely false.” Uncloseted Media also spoke with the alleged victim from the prison where she is housed, and she affirmed that “Michelle never hurt me or any other female.”
“[The prison] feels like the Trump administration’s gonna have their back on whatever that they do, so they’re taking more bolder chances to isolate us or send us back to a men’s facility,” says Calvin.
While Calvin is still at a women’s facility, not everyone has been so lucky. CDCR recently proposed new guidelines that explicitly create a process for trans women to be transferred back to men’s prisons if they have “two or more serious Rules Violation Reports within a 12-month period.” Kelli Blackwell, 58, told Uncloseted Media on a phone call from CCWF that at least three trans women have been transferred to men’s prisons since 2024, which we confirmed on the California Incarcerated Records and Information Search website.
Blackwell is hopeful she’ll get released soon. With that in mind, she got her dentistry license and is set to earn a degree in sociology next spring. She also has a partner living with her in the women’s facility. But with increased scrutiny from CDCR and pressure from the Trump administration, she fears that a transfer to a men’s prison could disrupt all of that.
“You have trans women here that’s actually had the surgery, had the vaginoplasty — they’re still finding ways to send them back to a men’s prison,” she says.
In an email, CDCR said that they are “committed to providing a safe, humane, respectful and rehabilitative environment for all incarcerated people.” They also noted that the department “has a detailed process for patients seeking gender-affirming care, including hormonal treatment.”
Support systems have become ‘useless’
Trans women in prison are also losing the little support they had. Patricia Trimble, a 66-year-old trans woman, writer and advocate, has been incarcerated in men’s facilities in Missouri since 1979. While in prison, she’s pursued paralegal studies at Platt Junior College, theology at St. Louis University and business at Central Methodist University.
She’s used her education to advocate for herself, often through the Transgender Committee, a group of staff members required by law at each Missouri prison. The committee is meant to help the prison “make informed recommendations regarding the health and safety of transgender and intersex offenders.”
However, Trimble says that since the start of the year, the committee has become “absolutely useless.”
“At one point in time, I could sit down with the Transgender Committee … and we would discuss things that make the prison safer, and they were receptive,” Trimble told Uncloseted Media on a phone call from the Southeast Correctional Center.
“Since Trump, there are no conversations like that. When I go to the Transgender Committee, the deputy warden just kinda looks at me with that smile on her face like ‘you ain’t gettin’ nothing here, and I already know what you’re gonna ask, so let’s just go through the motions and then you can go away.’”
Trimble says this makes every issue harder to fight. In a recent incident, she tried to get transferred after being housed with a transphobic cellmate who would “bully” and “constantly pick on” her.
Trimble says that even though there were empty cells in her wing, she was sent back and forth between the Transgender Committee, case workers and her unit manager before getting approved to move into one of them. While she had the know-how to stand up for herself, most people don’t.
Even with her experience in advocacy, she says staff have been harder than usual on her. Earlier this year, after advocating for gender-affirming surgery, she says the prison put her on a call with a doctor who said she “will not be filing a report recommending any further treatment.”
“She had the audacity to tell me that she finds that I no longer suffer from gender dysphoria,” Trimble says. “And I just kinda laughed and said, ‘Okay, I guess we’re done here,’ and I got up and left.”
In an email, the Missouri Department of Corrections wrote that they do not “tolerate unprofessional conduct by staff,” and that “no changes [have been] made to policies pertaining to transgender residents of Missouri state prisons after the 2024 election.”
The danger of men’s prisons
While life in the women’s facilities is far from perfect, the people we spoke with say it’s worth fighting to stay.
According to a 2016 analysis by the Williams Institute at UCLA, 37 percent of incarcerated trans people — the overwhelming majority of whom are housed in prisons that do not match their gender identity — had experienced sexual assault within a one-year period, compared to just over 3 percent of cis people.
Blackwell says physical violence at the men’s prison, often spurred by gang activity, is “structured” and “can get you killed.” Calvin says she was raped multiple times at the men’s prison, and Trimble recounted numerous instances when guards strip-searched her in the presence of men.
Handlang says she’s experienced extreme abuse by guards at the men’s prison: “They went in my cell and they were ripping up pictures of family, trying to get me to react, ripping up my clothes, ripping up my bras, ripping up panties, destroying my makeup.” When she tried to fight back, she says “they went off camera and they broke my ankle and my foot and stomped on me and punched on me.”
As threats continue to escalate, and Trump’s policies continue to trickle down, Trimble fears she could lose the few rights she has left.
“I know that all it would take is a phone call from Trump or one of Trump’s surrogates to the governor, and the governor simply signs an executive order and everything we’ve got is taken away and we would end up having to go to court again,” she says. “If the governor wanted to, he could make our lives a lot worse with just a stroke of the pen.”
Fighting back
In the face of all these horrors, these women are advocating for themselves and caring for their trans sisters.
Handlang says that this often involves the most basic gestures: listening to their troubles, teaching them how to do their makeup and helping them buy hygiene products.
Calvin and Blackwell are still working to defend and uphold the trans-inclusive bills they helped pass, and Trimble has used her years of experience to work with legal advocacy groups to get support for things like name changes and to pressure the state to address mistreatment.
“If you’re going to be an advocate or an activist … it can never be about you,” Trimble says. “It’s about our boys and girls that are suffering in this oppressive system.”
North Carolina
Authorities investigate officer-involved shooting outside Asheville gay bar
Incident took place near Shakey’s on Wednesday
An officer-involved shooting outside of a gay dive bar, Shakey’s, in downtown Asheville, N.C., left one man dead Wednesday.
The bar released a statement the following morning regarding the incident, stating that bar staff had asked a patron to leave earlier in the night citing concerning behavior. The bar said that later the man was spotted with a gun in the parking lot.
The bar proceeded to call 911, locked the doors to the establishment, and followed dispatcher instructions on how to keep patrons of the bar safe while officers arrived. These protocols included getting patrons away from the windows and staying low to the ground.
According to Shakey’s, shots were fired outside of the business. When the Asheville Police Department officers arrived, they fired back. The individual died from their injuries, according to the police.
“Because of everyone’s quick actions, cooperation, and concern for one another, every customer and every employee inside Shakey’s made it home safely. We are incredibly thankful,” Shakey’s said on their Instagram page. They thanked Asheville police, emergency dispatchers, EMS, and all first responders who were on scene.
On Thursday, a spokesperson for the North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation, Chad Flowers, stated that the suspect involved in the shooting was Arturo Castillo Palomar.
The Washington Blade reached out to the North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation for a comment regarding the possibility of the event being considered a hate crime. They said the issue is currently under investigation and that the findings would be turned over to the district attorney for review.
Pentagon
Hegseth announces testosterone initiative as trans troop ban continues
SPARTA Pride criticized Pentagon policy
The U.S. military will begin testing and treating service members with hormone therapy despite banning similar medical care for transgender service members.
Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth said Wednesday that troops ages 30 and older will be subject to annual testosterone screenings, while younger service members will have the option to voluntarily opt in. Some troops may then be recommended for hormone therapy, he explained in a video posted to social media.
“Under the supervision of our world-class medical professionals, warfighters age 30 and older are going to be tested annually as part of their periodic health assessment,” Hegseth said in a video posted to X, captioned “The High-T Department of War.”
This push to test testosterone levels, as the hormone is commonly referred to as “T,” runs counter to current medical guidelines. Physicians are generally advised to discuss testosterone therapy only with men who have symptoms consistent with low testosterone and documented low hormone levels on two separate blood tests.
Testosterone is a vital sex hormone that all humans naturally produce. It helps regulate muscle mass, bone density, and sex drive. In men, it is primarily produced in the testicles, while in women it is produced in the ovaries and adrenal glands.
Natural testosterone levels in men decline with age and have long been associated with issues such as erectile dysfunction, low libido, mood changes, and weight gain. However, experts continue to debate whether these conditions should routinely be treated with testosterone therapy.
Hegseth’s announcement aligns with other actions taken by the Trump-Vance administration — including efforts by Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. — to make testosterone therapy more accessible for men, particularly those assigned male at birth.
Last month, the Food and Drug Administration proposed easing prescribing restrictions on testosterone gels, pills, patches, and injections following a December advisory panel that recommended reducing regulatory hurdles to expand access to testosterone therapy.
Currently, FDA labeling specifies that these medications are approved only for men with hypogonadism, a medical condition that causes abnormally low testosterone levels.
The announcement came as a shock to many LGBTQ advocates because Hegseth and the Defense Department have cited the use of hormone therapy by trans service members as justification for their dismissal under President Donald Trump’s 2025 executive order, “Prioritizing Military Excellence and Readiness.“
The Pentagon continues to pursue implementation of the trans military ban as litigation proceeds. As a result, many trans service members have had their gender-affirming medical care halted, even as similar hormone therapy is now being expanded for cisgender service members. Under the executive order, the military currently disqualifies individuals diagnosed with gender dysphoria and has begun formal administrative separation proceedings for trans personnel.
SPARTA Pride, a nonpartisan nonprofit organization made up of trans service members, veterans, and their allies, issued a statement to the Washington Blade following Hegseth’s announcement.
“If hormone therapy helps warfighters perform at their best, then it cannot simultaneously be used as evidence that transgender service members are unfit to serve,” said Kara Corcoran, executive director of SPARTA Pride. “The same class of evidence-based medical treatment cannot be characterized as readiness-enhancing for one group and readiness-destroying for another.”
The legal fight over trans military service remains ongoing.
On June 1, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the D.C. Circuit ruled that trans service members already serving in the military could continue to do so, while allowing the armed services to continue refusing to enlist new trans recruits.
The Blade reached out to the Pentagon to ask why cisgender service members could receive hormone therapy while trans service members could not, but did not receive a response by the time of publication.
National
Democrats are trying to disqualify trans candidates. Here’s how
Jordan Korgood suspended Mass. Governor’s Council candidacy after opponent questioned residency
Uncloseted Media published this article on July 14.
By HOPE PISONI | Jordan Korgood has come a long way. In 2023, she ran into financial difficulties while studying at Northeastern University in Boston and ended up unhoused. Ordinary shelters are hotbeds of discrimination and mistreatment for transgender women like her, and the only trans shelter was full. So for five months, she slept in her car, in public libraries and anywhere she could find in order to continue her studies and campus activism.
Korgood, now 24, started a bid in March for a seat on Massachusetts Governor’s Council, a state board tasked with approving judicial candidates. Despite running against an incumbent who has been in office for 41 years, she secured key endorsements from local Democrats and racked up more than 7,000 Instagram followers, the equivalent of nearly one-tenth of primary voters during the last election cycle.
But last month, her momentum was ripped away. It started when Ronald Iacobucci, one of her opponents, noticed that she was still registered to vote in the 2024 election with an old New York address. He proceeded to file an objection with the state, alleging that Korgood didn’t meet the five-year residency requirement. While Korgood has lived in Massachusetts since 2019, she didn’t have a valid address to register in the state while she was unhoused. So she used her mother’s address, where she had lived before moving.
In an email to Uncloseted Media, Iacobucci wrote: “Because serious questions have arisen concerning compliance with those requirements, an objection was appropriate so the matter can be reviewed through the lawful process established by the commonwealth. This objection was nothing personal, it was always about the integrity of the process.”
While most residency challenges like this fail in Massachusetts, the State Ballot Law Commission disqualified Korgood on June 18. While she initially attempted to appeal the decision, the financial and logistical burden became too much — she estimates it drained about 40 percent of her campaign funds. So on July 10, Korgood suspended her campaign.
“I am incredibly frustrated that this is what I have to do at this point,” Korgood told Uncloseted Media. “I’ve spent thousands of hours, I’ve sacrificed my own mental health, my social life, friendships, my professional aspirations and advancement to work on this campaign, and this is how they’re ruling.”
“These are cherry-picking remote issues to target specific individuals,” Eliot Tracz, assistant professor of law at New England Law Boston, told Uncloseted Media. “They’re legitimate laws, but what they’re looking for is a selective application.”
Korgood isn’t the only trans candidate facing barriers. While a 2025 report by the LGBTQ+ Victory Institute found that trans representation among elected officials has increased by over 700 percent since 2017, candidates still face major hurdles.
Uncloseted Media found examples of trans candidates running for public office in Ohio and Michigan who have been threatened with disqualification over challenges to their eligibility. Often, the challenges come from their primary opponents: fellow Democrats.
“It should be voters, not political opponents, who decide who represents them,” Daniel Hernandez, vice president of political programs at the LGBTQ+ Victory Fund, a nonprofit supporting queer candidates for public office, told Uncloseted Media. “This is not a legitimate way to fight — if you have a disagreement on policy, that’s one thing, but to try and target trans people just because of who they are is completely unacceptable, especially in a Democratic primary.”
A growing strategy
The first widely publicized eligibility challenge against a trans candidate Uncloseted Media identified took place in Stark County, Ohio, in 2024. The Stark County Board of Elections, which has the same chairman as the county’s Democratic Party, disqualified Vanessa Joy, a trans woman who was running for a seat in the state legislature. The board cited an obscure state law requiring candidates who changed their name in the last five years to list their former name on candidacy petitions — in Joy’s case, her deadname.
“The original spirit of the law I kind of agree with,” Joy told Uncloseted Media. “But there’s hardly any information about this law ever being enforced.”
Days later, Arienne Childrey and Bobbie Arnold, two other trans candidates, had their eligibility challenged based on this law. While both candidates were cleared to run, that wasn’t the case for Joy, who never made it on the ballot.
Tom Sutton, a political science professor at Baldwin Wallace University, told Spectrum News 1 he had never seen this law enforced in his 30 years of study. At the time, the relevant forms didn’t include a space to list former names, an omission that has since been corrected.
“The only way to find out about it was to dig deep into all of the additional documents on their website,” says Joy. “They used this law against me.”
Similar challenges cropped up in Michigan this year. Joanna Whaley, a trans woman running for a seat in the state legislature, faced a legal complaint from her Democratic primary opponent Frank Liberati, who claimed in April that she should have filed campaign paperwork under her deadname.
“Because both the original and amended affidavits of identity filed by ‘Joanna Michelle Whaley’ contain FALSE statements, she/he cannot be certified to appear on the Aug. 4, 2026, primary election ballot,” the complaint argues.
The county clerk denied the challenge, which deadnames Whaley, because she had legally changed her name. Liberati’s complaint was widely condemned, with the Michigan Legislative LGBTQ+ Caucus calling it “meritless” and “transphobic.”
“It completely backfired on him,” Whaley told Uncloseted Media. “We tripled our cash on hand within a week because of the support that we’ve gotten from our community, and actually are in a stronger position now to win this race.”
While Whaley benefited from the challenge, that’s not the norm. Toni Mua, a trans woman running for a seat in the Michigan legislature, received a complaint from political activist Robert Davis in April who alleged that she also should have run under her deadname.
One of Mua’s opponents, Democrat Arthur Harrington, had discussed the challenge with Davis before it was filed, according to DeNiro Jones, Harrington’s former campaign manager. Jones told Uncloseted Media he sat in on a meeting between the two where they discussed the plan.
Jones also sent Uncloseted Media a screenshot of what he says is a text thread that Harrington sent him. In the screenshot, Davis tells Harrington, “The transgender candidate will be eliminated,” and Harrington responds that “Toni also won’t have the money to fight it.” Those texts were from April 22, two days before Davis filed the challenge.
In an email to Uncloseted Media, Davis called this story “baseless and meritless” and referred to Mua as “an illegitimate candidate seeking attention.”
“A candidate who happens to identify as transgender clearly violated Michigan Election Law and should not have been allowed to appear on the ballot,” Davis wrote. “A person’s sexual orientation nor identity played no part in the litigation seeking to have the person who filed a false affidavit of identity properly removed from the ballot.”
Arthur Harrington did not reply to multiple requests for comment. But in a June statement to Michigan Advance, he denied allegations that he was involved in Davis’s challenge.
These legal fights cost a lot. Korgood paid her lawyer $5,000. And while Mua defeated her challenge, she also had to use an estimated 40 percent of her campaign funds, or $10,000, to fight it.
In its opinion rejecting Davis’s challenge of Mua’s candidacy, the state court of appeals wrote, “Plaintiff misreads the statute … The Court of Claims did not err by concluding that Mua complied with the law or that the Wayne County Clerk did not err in rejecting plaintiff’s challenge.”
“I had to leave my job to run for this open seat,” Mua told Uncloseted Media. “It truly pisses me off, because [Democrats] have always said that they were better than this, and it’s showing truly where their support lies.”
Quinn Allred, executive director at Let Us Lead, a youth-focused voting rights nonprofit, finds these eligibility challenges from Democrats “despicable.”
“Instead of saying ‘trans people shouldn’t be running,’ [they’re entering] into this respectability politics and saying ‘oh, it’s actually because the names don’t match up, or it’s because of this residency law,’” Allred told Uncloseted Media. “[It’s a] special brand of cowardice that it takes for a Democrat to target a queer person who is also running for office.”
Uneven enforcement
While challenges to candidates’ residency aren’t uncommon in Massachusetts, they usually fail, according to Western Mass Politics & Insight, a long-running blog by local political and legal analysts.
The blog says most officials with authority over elections have a “great reluctance … to remove an individual from the ballot.” This makes Korgood’s removal unusual.
And while the State Ballot Law Commission says it considers many factors when determining a candidate’s residency and “no factor standing alone can be dispositive,” it largely cited Korgood’s voter registration in its decision despite other evidence that supports her eligibility, including apartment leases and membership in city programs.
“While there’s an undertone of legitimacy to some of those claims, it’s very selective,” Tracz says. “Most of us, when we move to a new state, don’t bother to go through the process of getting rid of our registration to vote in the prior state.”
Throughout history, Massachusetts candidates who faced similar challenges have been left on the ballot. These include former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney, who received a tax credit in Utah reserved for primary residences, and Brockton, Mass., mayoral candidate Hamilton Rodrigues, who had gotten his voter registration in Brockton removed and hadn’t voted in the city for over 10 years.
Months after Joy’s disqualification in Ohio, the Mahoning County Board of Elections struck down a similar challenge against Republican Tex Fischer, a cisgender man who changed his legal name. They allowed him to stay on the ballot.
Tracz says a judge would likely find selective enforcement like this questionable.
“[That rule is] applicable to any candidate, and the question then becomes ‘Is this only being enforced against a select group of candidates?’” he says. “Why are we only investigating a specific type of candidate? I think that will give some courts pause.”
Making existing challenges worse
Trans candidates face hurdles beyond eligibility challenges. A June report from the LGBTQ+ Victory Institute found that nearly two-thirds of LGBTQ candidates face in-person harassment and nearly 80 percent of them face online harassment.
“Whether it’s threats of violence, coordinated harassment campaigns, attempts to remove people from the ballot, the cumulative effect is the same: public service becoming more difficult and less accessible to the LGBTQ community,” says Hernandez of the Victory Fund.
Whaley says the increased attention from Liberati’s challenge brought even more harassment her way. She says she reports death threats to the police weekly and has a security detail at every public appearance. Security has become her second-largest campaign expense, and for good reason; in October, her team intervened when a man wearing a Make America Great Again hat followed her around with a gun at a No Kings rally.
“At the end of the day, I want to get home to tuck my kids in bed,” Whaley says. “We could be using that money for other things, but we’re having to use it to just keep me alive.”
Eligibility challenges distract from the candidates’ policies. Childrey remembers one woman telling her she couldn’t vote for her because she’s “only about the rainbow people.”
“Most of what [I’m] talking about is affordability, funding for our public schools … bread and butter issues,” Childrey told Uncloseted Media. “There is an assumption, because we’re trans, that that’s all it is.”
Barriers also pile up intersectionally. Nearly one-third of trans people experience homelessness at some point in their lives, a rate eight times higher than the general population. This means barriers for unhoused people disproportionately affect trans candidates.
“Trans youth, trans people of color, students, those who are unhoused like [Korgood] was, or who are disabled or low-income — those barriers only compound,” Allred says.
What could change?
Zein Murib, a political science professor at Fordham University, says these incidents demonstrate the need for more leniency with official documentation, arguing that a candidate’s deadname or legal sex aren’t relevant information. Today, 45 states accept common-law names, or the name a person uses in everyday life regardless of their ID, for other legal procedures, and Whaley says this should apply to campaigns as well.
Besides these policy changes, Allred says LGBTQ advocacy groups should allocate more funds to defend trans candidates from eligibility challenges. And Hernandez says that more people should condemn these tactics and show support for those targeted.
“We need to make sure that we set the expectation that everyone … is rejecting these tactics that are disproportionately burdening our trans candidates,” he says. “We have to call it out when we see it, and we have to make sure that we are not just letting candidates fight these fights themselves.”
Mua says that she doesn’t see a future for herself or other trans people with the Democrats unless the party stands up for them. “I refuse to put myself into a party where I don’t see my safety and protection being vital.”
While Korgood says she is saddened by this outcome, she doesn’t intend for her political career to end.
“I’m incredibly proud of what we were able to accomplish, and while I am beyond disappointed and frustrated that this is how this is ending, I am so grateful that I earned the support and the attention of thousands of people in this race.”
Uncloseted Media also reached out to the Stark and Mahoning County Boards of Elections as well as the office of the Secretary of State in Ohio, and the Elections division of the Secretary of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, under which the State Ballot Law Commission serves. None replied.
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