*This is being reported by LGBTQNation.

Karma Yoakum had been part of a community of political activists in Texas for years. However, as the relentless tide of anti-trans legislation kept rising, it became clear that it was time for them to relocate, recover their energies, and take on a different role in the larger fight. 

Finding a new home in the Pacific Northwest, Karma was able to do just that. But the road wasn’t without its challenges, and finding their new community required intention and perseverance once they had recovered a little bit of who they were by living in a state that wasn’t trying to persecute them for their existence.

As anti-trans sentiment and legislation have been on the rise across the United States in recent years, many trans and nonbinary people have made the difficult decision to flee red states. In moving to a bluer state, trans people are making a choice based on safety, but that doesn’t make it an easy choice. It means leaving behind a home and community you have built over years or your whole life because of the machinations of people who hate you. While a new state can fix a lot of problems, building a new community doesn’t happen overnight. The president’s re-election and the introduction of federal anti-trans bills have created a flashpoint for even more trans people to seek safer pastures in states that might protect them.

I wanted to understand the challenges and opportunities that trans people face when starting over and building a new community in a blue state. I spoke with four trans and nonbinary people who have relocated in the last six to twelve months. They shared the challenges, the successes, and advice for others who are considering relocating to a sanctuary state.

Why trans people are leaving their red state communities

Major relocations often happen around an institution, such as going to college or starting a new job. But moves like those come with some built-in community-building support. 

Relocating as a refugee from a red state can be a more lonely affair. Most of the people I spoke with found that building a new community felt like work exacerbated by not having the same connections and support systems they had in the communities they left behind.

Clark Roman had been well-established in St. Louis. Both Clark and his boyfriend had owned their own houses and had a strong community of friends and chosen family in the city. But he says he saw the writing on the wall in 2023 when the Missouri attorney general enacted a de facto ban on trans hormones and trans healthcare that included adults. While his emergency rule was blocked by a judge and then withdrawn, the legislature went on to pass a gender-affirming care ban for trans youth. It was clear where things were headed, and Clark moved to Minneapolis a few months later.

Leaving behind a large community, both queer-centric and otherwise, Clark has found it hard to make more connections in his new city. At the center of it is the challenge of the modern age: balancing work and social life. “The honest truth is I have a very, very stressful job and I have not had the space in my life to build community the way I want.” He noted that it felt like he had to “treat building a new community as a second job.”

Karma also struggled to make connections when they first relocated from Texas to Washington state. After living in Texas for years, they reached a point where they found themselves saying, “I’m feeling scared and trapped and there’s absolutely nothing keeping me in Texas anymore.”

Karma moved 2,000 miles to Seattle but found a problem when they arrived. While their new home was more welcoming to the gender diverse, there was still culture shock to get over. “Where is everybody? I heard it was this wonderful panacea, a place where I would be welcomed. So, I looked around and I learned what the Seattle chill was. And it’s not a horrible thing, it’s just a difference in culture, because I’m used to southern culture.”

Chris (his name has been changed to protect his privacy)  echoed Karma’s frustrations over Washington state’s laid-back attitude to building community. Like Clark, Chris was living in St. Louis, saw the anti-trans legislation in Missouri in 2023, and concluded that “living in Missouri as a trans human, [he] was at risk.” He made the move to Washington state in 2024 while watching the coming election without much hope.

While St. Louis had its flaws, Chris was leaving behind a lot of queer community and resources. He had worked with the St. Louis Metro Trans Umbrella Group for nearly 20 years, enjoyed events and meetups, and collected queer friends through meets at clubs, bars, and drag shows. But the same culture shock that Karma experienced has made it hard to build new connections: “It’s been honestly a huge struggle, much more than I anticipated.”

While it’s important to know that people are struggling with finding new communities in their new states, it’s not all doom and gloom. Clark and Chris have both been able to stay in touch with parts of their communities from before their moves through travel and online communication. While that’s not always the same, it’s a nice option to have. I also spoke with Mira Lazine – an LGBTQ Nation contributor – who relocated from Cincinnati to Minneapolis and had a different sort of experience.

While the Ohio governor vetoed HB 68, which banned gender-affirming care for minors, he then introduced care guidelines for the state. “These rules were basically going to amount to a total care ban for all adults in Ohio,” explained Mira. “And it even would include some aspects of conversion therapy and mental health treatment.” 

It was time to relocate, and someone recommended Minneapolis. For Mira, finding a new community in this queer-friendly space came a lot easier.

“Within the first week of moving here, I went to a few coffee shops, and everyone, like the baristas, were trans, and they were recommending me support groups to join, discord servers I can join, like the whole nine yards. And it’s just been way easier to meet people and meet other queer people and form connections here.” 

While Karma and Chris suffered from culture shock, Mira found herself among other transplants to the state who had their relocation in common: “Probably like 80% of the queer people I’ve met aren’t originally from Minnesota, so we’re all like, yeah, we need community, let’s build one.”

Finding new communities in blue states

All of the people that I spoke with had been in their new homes for less than a year. While there have been struggles, they have been able to find resources and spaces to start that community-building process and are in different places in their journeys.

Clark noted that his struggle to find community in Minneapolis is probably the biggest dissatisfaction in his life right now. But he can see a light at the end of the tunnel through some of the community spaces that he is attending. “The synagogue I go to is very open and trans-friendly. So that was helpful.” Clark is also looking at getting more involved with Transplants, a group for LGBTQ+ people who have relocated to Minneapolis and St. Paul. 

Chris has found that his work at a university in Washington provides some space for community building. “Their DEI office held a holiday event for, I guess, everyone, but the folks who showed up to that event were primarily queer folks and persons of color. And that was fantastic.” 

Chris still faces challenges, even at the events. He told me that he has been going to meet-up groups, Portland Pride, the Ingersoll Gender Center, and more, but he wasn’t satisfied with the results. Chris suggested that part of that problem might be visibility: “I am stealth, so at my workplace, I’m not fully out [as trans]. Where I landed is sort of a purple city in a blue state. I’m typically able to pass as male and not be questioned at all, which is, is nice, but at the same time, it’s hard because I think visibility might help me connect with more queer people.”

For Karma, their initial struggles with community-building in Seattle began to bear fruit around the one-year mark. “I did the things that I’ve tried before, and I figured, if they’ve worked everywhere else, they ought to work here. Maybe it just takes a little longer. And yeah, that was it. It takes a little longer.”

Karma found that organizations were the key. They found like-minded people when they returned to playing music with the local band that is part of the LGBTQ+ band organization, Pride Bands Alliance, an international group that Karma has worked with since the 1990s. Similarly, local chapters of a national support network have provided success in community building: “PFLAG, all you have to do is show up to a meeting. There are people there that if you need a hug, they are instant family. And people that aren’t instant family are there because they want support.”

Karma also reached into her past in political activism and found that, post-move, they had the energy to continue in their new home. “The third place that I decided to get involved was the Gender Justice League. Dealing with legislation, dealing with victims of violence here in the Seattle area. So, supporting our community, advocating like crazy.” After months of struggling to find their people, Karma now finds that barely a day on their calendar doesn’t include a community event, a catch-up, or a coffee meet.

No regrets

Everyone’s experience with relocating to a bluer state will be unique. However, there was one ringing agreement amongst all the people that I spoke with: no regrets. When asked what advice they had for someone considering a move, Clark, Chris, Mira, and Karma all urged people to relocate if they felt it might help.

Clark grieves what he left behind but recognizes that it was the right call for him, and he’s going to keep trying to find his new community. “I think it’s dissatisfying at first. But it’s important to [show] up repeatedly because I think that repeated showing up [is] how I made my community originally in St. Louis.” 

Chris echoed those sentiments, noting that he has no regrets and that it has been “completely worth it.” Watching recent election results come in wouldn’t have been fun anywhere, but he was glad to be in a safe space for it all “despite challenges and some loneliness.”

Karma isn’t even considering going back. “I would say do it. The relief that I felt by at least being in a community where I know that I’d no longer have to deal with local politics.”

“In Texas, the local politics were against me,” they said. “At least here, I know locally and statewide, my representatives really do represent everybody, and they have my back. And that has made so much a difference in my life.”