Editor's Note: This story contains mention of self-harm. If you or someone you know is considering suicide or other acts of self-harm, please contact Colorado Crisis Services by calling 1-844-493-8255 or texting “TALK” to 38255 for free, confidential, and immediate support.
On Election Night last November, as Delta resident Leslie Saenz realized Donald Trump was about to become president again, she was terrified, thinking of one person.
“My kid,” she said recently, looking back on the dread of that night.
Saenz’s teenage daughter is transgender, and while trans people make up only a tiny percentage of the population, they’ve become a big target of the Trump administration. The president has declared the federal government will only recognize two genders and has moved rapidly to strip away protections and enact policies the trans community says are harmful.
While many of these changes have so far been blocked in court, Saenz says families like hers still live in fear. Saenz’s daughter started insisting she was a girl at age 4. As she got older, she went on puberty blockers and more recently started taking female hormones. Trump has tried to restrict this kind of gender-affirming care for minors, though it’s one of many of his actions the courts have blocked for now.
“I'm so scared that I won't have a kid at all if she doesn't get her medication,” Saenz said.
She means suicide. Numerous studies have found that trans youth are at a higher risk of suicide than their cisgender peers, and that factors like lack of social acceptance can increase that danger. Researchers have also found that gender-affirming care can help reduce depression and suicidality.
Saenz worries about political attacks on that kind of care, as well as the safety of her entire family. Her husband is transgender, and between them, they have several biological kids and a number of LGBTQ young people in the area who they consider chosen family.
“We're those crazy, loud, very proud rainbow people,” Saenz said, smiling. They’re well-known in their little Western Slope town for their Pride flags and their car festooned with equality bumper stickers.
But after the election, “all that came down,” Saenz said. Her husband didn’t want to risk igniting anyone’s anger.
“I'm terrified every day. But at least I'm me.”
Saenz knows a lot of trans people who are trying to be way less visible, especially those with kids. But the trans community is still finding ways to come together, however, even in this largely conservative corner of Colorado.
Loving Beyond Understanding is a queer community center in neighboring Grand Junction, and once a month it hosts a community potluck. At its April event, folks perused crockpots and plates of cookies, set up under colorful pride flags. As a trans woman and her wife bounced their baby on a couch, a young trans man named Ziggy strummed his guitar on the floor. Like many of the people in this story, CPR is not using his last name because he fears for his safety.
While walking his dog recently, he “had someone charge across the street telling me they were going to kill me,” Ziggy said. “I've tried to go to a grocery store and had someone pull a gun and tell me to leave.”
Both of those instances have been since the election. Ziggy thinks Trump’s win made people feel they could be more open in their hostility to gender nonconforming people.
“It's terrifying. It's hard to go anywhere, to want to do anything because there's that fear that something could happen.”
Many trans people say that kind of fear — and deep uncertainty caused by shifting policies — are the biggest impacts from the Trump administration so far. Twenty-year-old Dartagnan is non-binary and considering whether to start taking estrogen.
“It kind of feels like I'm both rushed to do that because I'm afraid it'll be taken away at some point. And also more scared to do that as well,” they said.
Dartagnan is scared because of the harassment they have already experienced as someone who doesn’t conform to gender norms. They’ve had people glare at them and yell slurs.
“I'm terrified every day. But at least I'm me,” they said, “and hopefully I won't get hurt or anything, but nothing I can do about it.”
Looking forward with fear
Dartagnan and other adults here know the risks they run by just being themselves. Six-year-old Esa does not — yet. Despite everything going on, her parents hope to keep it that way for their trans daughter for as long as they can. Another day at the community center, she bounded up to them asking for a soda.
“I want Sprite,” she said, in her high-pitched, little-girl voice.
After some negotiation, she grabbed one from the fridge and ran off again with a big grin. Esa is so proud of being who she is, said her mom, Brittni. But Brittni is worried she could lose that pride as she learns more about how some people view her.
The couple is wondering what comes next for their family. Brittni wants to stay in western Colorado, in the community they’ve built around Esa. But if the federal government moves to target parents who let their trans children live as their authentic selves, say by threatening their custody rights or investigating them for child abuse, Brittni says they will leave the country.
“You will not take my baby out of my arms, over my dead body.”
Editor's Note: A previous of this story misnamed the organization Loving Beyond Understanding.
If you need help, dial 988 to reach the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can also reach the Colorado Crisis Services hotline at 1-844-493-8255 or text “TALK” to 38255 to speak with a trained counselor or professional. Counselors are also available at walk-in locations or online to chat.
| This story is part of a collection tracking the impacts of President Donald Trump’s second administration on the lives of everyday Coloradans. Since taking office, Trump has overhauled nearly every aspect of the federal government; journalists from CPR News, KRCC and Denverite are staying on top of what that means for you. Read more here. |
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