Ask Auntie: Trans folks built this community. Why are we still locked out?

Your Lovable Trans Auntie is our go-to advice column for life’s biggest (and messiest) questions—love, work, identity, and everything in between. With a signature blend of warmth, wit, and just the right amount of sass, Auntie offers readers a uniquely trans perspective that’s as affirming as it is entertaining. Whether dishing out heartfelt wisdom, practical advice, or a little tough love, Auntie is here to remind everyone that they’re never alone on this journey.

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Why does it feel like some of our own lock us out of the house?

The recent murder of Sam Nordquist, a 24-year-old trans man, has been a weight on my heart. The Minnesotan traveled to Canandaigua in Upstate New York, a town mere 34 minutes from me, hoping to connect with someone. For many, the age of the internet and social media has allowed marginalized individuals to find friendship or romance. But instead of seeing the connection he desired, Sam faced a horror beyond words: tortured and murdered.

ABC News covered an official police statement indicating there's no current proof this was a hate crime. Moreover, their statement read, "Sam and his assailants were known to each other, identified as LGBTQ+, and at least one of the defendants lived with Sam in the time period leading up to the instant offense."

But by disclosing this, we must address an issue many try to avoid: Trans individuals face transphobia within the community we helped shape.

What is transphobia?

Sometimes, it's nice to believe our community is warm and welcoming, from queer venues to pride parades. But the truth? There's a trap door, and too many trans folks have fallen through it. The internalized transphobia sneaks in, and it's coming through the cracks of our fractured society.

Merriam-Webster defines transphobia as a "discrimination against, aversion to, or fear of transgender people." It doesn't take long to find a content creator proudly "informing" us that trans adults are an abomination or a television personality arguing how trans youths don't fully understand themselves and, thus, are not deserving of care. The re-election of Trump has only fueled the fractures, with some queer individuals celebrating his victory despite the dangers trans folks face. And let's not forget those within the community who see the administration's attempts at erasing trans existence yet say or do nothing.

Are you choosing to be silent or being silenced?

Being queer doesn't automatically make someone a safe space. I've been in rooms where "LGBTQ+" felt more like a hierarchy than a collective experience: The 'L' and 'G' show up in full force, with usually the 'G' taking precedence before all, at times belittling or ignoring the 'T' like an unread text.

But this isn't new. Pride started because of trans women like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera throwing bricks against oppression, despite some suggestions. But once the movement started getting camera time, trans folks–especially Black and Brown trans folks–got edited out of the frame. In the '70s, some groups slammed the door on them, ignoring and demeaning our existence or flatly turning their heads because a trans person wasn't "palatable" to their taste. TERF energy has been brewing like bad coffee long before J.K. Rowling shot out tweets.

And now? That same exclusion dances into bars, community centers, social circles, and dating apps, where transphobia wears a rainbow-like camouflage.

What does transphobia look like in the LGBTQ+ community?

Transphobia in our community often masquerades as sass or silence. It comes in the form of a gay guy who only respects you if you're "passable," the bar that's inclusive until you're in the bathroom, and the side-eye when a trans person dares to be visible, loud, and proud. And then there's the old classic misgendering. It's the verbal equivalent of scuffing a new pair of shoes.

You know better.

Transphobia isn't just about being shady at brunch or happy hour. It's about the violence that blooms from seeds planted inside our community. Trans people face higher rates of homelessness, violence, and murder–often at the hands of those we know as family, as lovers, or those who share our own queer identity. Black and Brown trans bodies are the most vulnerable within an already vulnerable group. The Human Rights Campaign recorded at least 32 murders of trans and gender-expansive individuals in 2024. 78% of them were victims of color, and 56% were Black trans women. Too often, these stories don't make headlines.

They barely make hashtags.

But Sam Nordquist's story did. It hit hard because it wasn't just a headline but a mirror held up to our collective community. And the reflection? It's not so pretty. So, my loves, how do we heal? How do we fix this? How do we protect our trans siblings from a world that feels like a background, especially when the dirt is under our own feet?

We have to start by cleaning the damn house.

1. Clock yourself before you wreck yourself: Bias isn't cute. Unpack it.
2. Call it out, even if it's awkward: When your friends make a "joke" about us that's a little sus, then, sis, say something. Silence isn't neutral; it's an RSVP to the problem.
3. Pass the mic, not just the vibes: Hire trans people. Book trans performers. Buy from trans-owned businesses. And don't treat us like a last-minute thought to join the party: make sure we're on the list, too.
4. Pronouns are free. Use them: Nothing says "I care" like using someone's correct pronouns without making a scene. And if you don't want to slip up, please don't hesitate to ask. Some may care–others may not–but it shows you're an affirming (read: accepting) person to be around.
5. Know your history: Trump and his gang may spend their time scrubbing trans folks from websites, but never forget the role trans icons have played in our ongoing quest for liberation. Pick up a book, visit your neighborhood LGBTQ+ organization, and learn more about the strength and resilience of your trans forebears.

A final love note from Auntie

When I heard about Sam, I thought about his family. His mother described him to The Minnesota Star Tribuneas the kind of person who'd "give you the shirt of his back." If Sam could be that generous, why can't we learn to be generous with our love, empathy, and protection? Because family isn't about matching identities; it's about matching energy. And the energy we need right now is full-hearted and loud in defense of our trans siblings.

If Pride started with a riot, I wonder what it takes to start a community reunion. Not just for Sam. Not just for those we've lost. But for every trans person who deserves more than survival but love.

And isn't that what family's for?

Rest in peace, Sam and all our trans siblings who have been victims of hate. The world did not grant them peace, but we must ensure a better one for those who come after us.

xx,
Your Lovable Trans Auntie