As President Donald Trump and his administration escalate rhetoric targeting transgender youth and student athletes, push efforts to restrict voting access for millions of Americans, and pursue foreign policy decisions that critics say bypass congressional authority, organizers across the country are once again mobilizing in protest.

For many LGBTQ advocates, the moment feels especially urgent.

In recent months, activists have pointed to a surge in anti-trans legislation, attacks on gender-affirming care, and efforts to roll back nondiscrimination protections as direct threats to the safety and visibility of queer and trans communities. Organizers say the demonstrations are not just about policy, but about defending the right of LGBTQ people — particularly trans youth and people of color — to live openly and safely.

Thousands of “No Kings” protests are planned nationwide, with multiple demonstrations set to take place in D.C.

One of the primary events, “No Kings Washington,” will be held in Anacostia, an overwhelmingly Black area of D.C. that is often at the center of conversations around racial justice, policing, and access to resources in the nation’s capital.

The protest in Anacostia is focused on what organizers describe as the “power behind the throne,” specifically Stephen Miller, the White House Deputy Chief of Staff for Policy and Homeland Security Advisor. Miller has been closely associated with the administration’s “zero tolerance” immigration policy, including the family separation practice that resulted in thousands of children being separated from their parents at the Southern border.

Activists have also linked immigration enforcement policies to broader concerns about LGBTQ migrants, including queer asylum seekers who often face heightened risks of violence and discrimination both in their home countries and within detention systems.

Anacostia protest details:

Participants are asked to gather starting at 1:30 p.m. on the southeast side of the Frederick Douglass Bridge. The closest Metro station is Anacostia on the Green Line, about an 8-minute walk from the starting point. Organizers strongly encourage attendees to use public transportation, as street parking is limited.

The march will proceed past Fort McNair and conclude near the Waterfront Metro station.

D.C. icon and LGBTQ activist Rayceen Pendarvis is set to speak at the protest around 2 p.m.

Kalorama protest details:

A separate protest will take place earlier in the day in Kalorama, a neighborhood long associated with political power and home to presidents, cabinet officials, and foreign ambassadors. Demonstrators are expected to gather at 10 a.m., with a march running until approximately noon near the intersection of Connecticut Avenue and Kalorama Road.

Arlington/National Mall protest details:

Another group is expected to assemble at Memorial Circle near Arlington National Cemetery at 10 a.m. before crossing the Memorial Bridge into D.C., passing the Lincoln Memorial and continuing on to the Washington Monument. Organizers say the march is intended to defend “American democracy, the rule of law, and a healthy planet.”

Unlike last June — when organizers discouraged large-scale demonstrations in D.C. due Trump’s military/birthday parade — activists are now explicitly calling on people to show up in the nation’s capital and surrounding areas.

The protests also coincide with Transgender Day of Visibility weekend, which includes additional gatherings and celebrations on the National Mall. At the same time, peak bloom for the National Cherry Blossom Festival is expected to draw large crowds to the city. With multiple major events happening simultaneously, officials and organizers anticipate significant congestion, increased traffic, and crowded public transit throughout the weekend.

Organizers are urging participants to plan ahead and come prepared.

“Bring your signs, noisemakers, music, and creative ideas, and gather in joyful, nonviolent protest,” they said. “Children are very welcome.”

For more information, visit nokings.org.

I did not choose to become a refugee. I did not choose to become a victim of trafficking. I only chose to live as myself. Yet in the world I come from, choosing to live as myself was enough to make me a target. As a transgender woman from Uganda, my identity alone placed me in danger. What followed was not just displacement, it was a journey through systems of exploitation that closely resemble modern slavery, hidden in plain sight along the borders and pathways that refugees are forced to travel.

People often imagine modern slavery as something that happens in secret: in locked rooms, in distant brothels, in hidden factories. Human trafficking is portrayed as a dark underworld run by organized criminals. But for many refugees in East Africa, exploitation does not hide in the shadows. It exists in the open, woven into the very routes of survival. It is present at border checkpoints, in refugee camps, in the hands of smugglers, and even in the institutions meant to protect us. It is not always marked by chains or cages. Sometimes it looks like a bus ticket, a border crossing, a promise of safety, or a demand for money that you cannot refuse.

My journey across borders is only one example of how these systems operate. But it is a story shared by many LGBTQI+ refugees whose lives are shaped by violence, silence, and the constant negotiation of safety.

In Uganda, being transgender is not simply misunderstood, it is dangerous. My family, deeply rooted in conservative religious beliefs, saw my identity as a disgrace. I was threatened, rejected, and made to feel that my life had no value. Outside the home, communities policed identity through violence. The legal environment offered no protection. Instead, it reinforced fear. Laws targeting LGBTQI+ people made it impossible to seek help from authorities. Reporting abuse often meant risking arrest. Every day became a calculation of risk: where to walk, who to trust, how to hide. Eventually, the threats became too real to ignore. Leaving was not a choice, it was survival.

My journey out of Uganda began through unofficial routes. Like many refugees fleeing persecution, I could not rely on safe or legal pathways. Instead, I was forced into networks of smugglers and traffickers operating along border regions. From Uganda through border points like Maraba, and later through movements connected to Kakuma Refugee Camp and into South Sudan, each step came with a cost financial, emotional, and physical. At border crossings, money speaks louder than rights. Payments were demanded at checkpoints. There was no transparency, no accountability. You either paid, or you risked being turned back or worse.

For LGBTQI+ refugees, these journeys are even more dangerous. Visibility can mean exposure. Exposure can mean violence. There is constant fear of being outed, harassed, or assaulted not only by traffickers but sometimes by those meant to enforce the law. This is how modern trafficking operates not always through chains, but through systems of dependency, coercion, and fear.

Human trafficking is often imagined as a distant or extreme phenomenon. But for many refugees, especially LGBTQI+ individuals, it exists in subtle and systemic ways. It is in the forced payments demanded at every step of the journey. It is in the exploitation of vulnerability by those offering “help.” It is in the silence of systems that fail to protect. Many LGBTQI+ refugees face extortion by smugglers and intermediaries, threats of violence or exposure, sexual exploitation and abuse, and discrimination by officials and communities. These experiences are rarely documented. Fear prevents reporting. Lack of access prevents justice. What remains is a hidden crisis, one that continues across borders.

Reaching South Sudan did not bring safety. I now live in Gorom Refugee Settlement Camp, where the reality for LGBTQI+ refugees remains harsh and dangerous. Discrimination is part of daily life. Access to food, water, and healthcare is often affected by stigma. Moving freely within the camp can be risky. Violence and threats are constant. As a transgender woman, I am highly visible. This visibility increases my vulnerability. I have faced harassment, intimidation, and threats from both host communities and other refugees. Some blame LGBTQI+ refugees for misfortunes accusing us of bringing curses or problems. These beliefs, rooted in stigma and misinformation, fuel violence and exclusion. Safety, even in a refugee camp, is not guaranteed.

Despite these challenges, I have chosen not to remain silent. In Gorom, I serve as a leader and representative of an LGBTQI+ Refugees and Asylum Seekers Network. Our community includes individuals who are traumatized, isolated, and often unable to advocate for themselves. Many cannot read or write. Some are dealing with serious medical conditions. Others are too afraid to speak. I support them by helping fill out applications and forms, writing emails to organizations, connecting them with protection pathways, and providing peer support and coordination. Through this work, several members of our community have managed to access opportunities for relocation and protection. Some have received case numbers and are progressing through international processes. While I am proud of this work, it comes with a cost. My visibility as a leader makes me a target. The more I help others, the more I am exposed.

The systems I have experienced reflect a form of modern slavery that is not always recognized. It is not defined by ownership, but by control. It is not enforced by chains, but by fear and dependency. When refugees are forced to rely on informal and unsafe systems to survive, exploitation becomes inevitable. International frameworks like the Palermo Protocol recognize trafficking as involving coercion, exploitation, and abuse of vulnerability. By these definitions, what many refugees experience during displacement falls within this reality. Yet, these experiences are rarely acknowledged in policy or response.

My story is one thread in a much larger tapestry of exploitation. Across East Africa, displacement has created informal systems where movement is controlled not by law, but by power, money, and vulnerability. Within these systems, trafficking and modern slavery are not isolated crimes; they are embedded in the everyday experiences of refugees. The blurred line between smuggling and trafficking becomes clear when a voluntary agreement turns into coercion. Payments increase unexpectedly. Conditions worsen. Threats emerge. At this point, smuggling begins to resemble trafficking. People are forced to pay additional fees under threat, detained or abandoned if they cannot pay, and subjected to coercion, intimidation, or violence. The journey becomes one of survival under control, rather than movement by choice.

Checkpoints are one of the most visible forms of exploitation. Across multiple borders, movement is regulated not only by official policies but by informal practices. Travelers are often required to make payments to pass through, regardless of their legal status. These payments are rarely documented. They are negotiated at the moment, often under pressure. Failure to comply can result in detention, forced return, physical intimidation, or exposure to further risks. For those already vulnerable, checkpoints become sites of control and exploitation. This system benefits from a lack of accountability. It thrives in environments where oversight is weak and corruption is normalized.

Modern slavery is not always about physical confinement. It can also take the form of economic exploitation. During transit, individuals may be required to pay escalating fees at each stage of the journey, surrender money or belongings, or depend entirely on intermediaries for movement. In some cases, individuals are left stranded if they cannot meet financial demands. This creates a cycle of dependency: you rely on the network to move, the network controls the cost, and the cost determines your safety. Such systems exploit vulnerability in a way that aligns closely with definitions of modern slavery particularly the abuse of power and the extraction of value through coercion.

Reaching a destination, such as a refugee settlement, does not necessarily end exposure to exploitation. In many camp settings, individuals continue to face restricted access to resources, dependency on aid systems, and informal economies that can be exploitative. Where formal support systems are overstretched or under-resourced, informal structures emerge again. These structures may involve gatekeeping access to services, manipulation of aid distribution, or continued financial or social exploitation. The conditions that enable trafficking do not disappear; they evolve.

Beyond East Africa, modern slavery takes other forms that mirror the same patterns of vulnerability and exploitation. Labor trafficking to the Gulf has become a major issue for migrants from Uganda, Kenya, and Tanzania. 

Recruitment agencies promise good jobs, but many migrants end up in forced domestic labour, with confiscated passports, unpaid wages, and conditions amounting to slavery. Some never return home. Organ trafficking has also been documented, with victims from Africa ending up in countries such as Thailand, Malaysia, Russia, and China. Kidneys are the most commonly trafficked organs. Some victims are coerced; others are deceived; some are killed. Women, girls, and LGBTQI+ individuals are disproportionately targeted for sexual exploitation. For refugees, “survival sex” becomes a coping mechanism in the absence of protection and resources. Modern slavery thrives because the global economy rewards cheap labour. Migrants from East Africa are used in construction, domestic work, agriculture, and manufacturing. Their exploitation is hidden behind the products the world consumes.

From a humanist perspective, the existence of such systems raises urgent ethical questions. If all human beings have equal dignity, why are some forced to risk exploitation to survive? If rights are universal, why are they not accessible in practice? Human trafficking and modern slavery in refugee movements are not only criminal issues, they are moral failures. They reflect a gap between principles and reality. They expose the distance between what we claim to value and what we allow to happen.

Addressing these issues requires more than isolated interventions. Safe and legal migration pathways must be expanded. Border accountability must be strengthened. Anti-trafficking measures must be integrated into refugee protection. Refugee-led initiatives must be supported. Those with lived experience are best positioned to identify risks and solutions.

Modern slavery and human trafficking are not always visible in chains or confinement. In many cases, they exist within systems that appear as ordinary border crossings, transit routes, and refugee settlements. Recognizing these systems is the first step toward change. The movement of people across borders should not come at the cost of their dignity, safety, or freedom. Yet, for many, it does. Until safe alternatives exist, and accountability is enforced, these hidden systems of exploitation will continue.

The question is not whether they exist.  

The question is whether we are willing to confront them.

Aby lives in the Gorom Refugee Settlement Camp in South Sudan.

The International Olympic Committee on Thursday announced it will not allow transgender women from competing in female events at the Olympics.

“For all disciplines on the Sports Program of an IOC event, including individual and team sports, eligibility for any Female Category is limited to biological females,” reads the new policy.

The policy states “eligibility for the Female Category is to be determined in the first instance by SRY Gene screening to detect the absence or presence of the SRY Gene.”

“On the basis of the scientific evidence, the IOC considers that the SRY (sex-determining Region Y) Gene is fixed throughout life and represents highly accurate evidence that an athlete has experienced or will experience male sex development,” it reads. “Furthermore, the IOC considers that SRY Gene screening via saliva, cheek swab or blood sample is unintrusive compared to other possible methods. Athletes who screen negative for the SRY gene permanently satisfy this policy’s eligibility criteria for competition in the Female Category.”

The policy states the test “will be a once-in-a-lifetime test” unless “there is reason to believe a negative reading is in error.”

The new regulation will be in place for the 2028 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles.

“I understand that this a very sensitive topic,” said IOC President Kirsty Coventry on Thursday in a video. “As a former athlete, I passionately believe in the rights of all Olympians to take part in fair competition.”

“The policy that we have announced is based on science and it has been led by medical experts with the best interests of athletes at its heart. The scientific evidence is very clear: male chromosomes give performance advances in sport that rely on strength, power, or endurance,” she added. “At the Olympic Games, even the smallest margins can be the difference between victory and defeat. So, it is absolutely clear that it would not be fair for biological males to compete in the female category. In addition, in some sports it would simply not be safe.”

(Video courtesy of the IOC)

Laurel Hubbard, a weightlifter from New Zealand, in 2021 became the first trans woman to compete at the Olympics.

Imane Khelif, an Algerian boxer, won a gold medal at the 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris. Khelif later sued JK Rowling and Elon Musk for cyberstalking after they questioned her gender identity.

Ellis Lundholm, a mogul skier from Sweden, this year became the first openly trans athlete to compete in any Winter Olympics when he participated in Milan Cortina Winter Olympics in Italy.

President Donald Trump in February 2025 issued an executive order that bans trans women and girls from female sports teams in the U.S.

The U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee last July banned trans women from competing in female sporting events. Republican lawmakers have demanded the IOC ban trans athletes from women’s athletic competitions.

“I’m grateful the Olympics finally embraced the common sense policy that women’s sports are for women, not for men,” said U.S. Sen. Tom Cotton (R-Ark.) on X.

An IOC spokesperson on Thursday referred the Washington Blade to the press release that announced the new policy.