Just leave. These are the two words I am told by people all across the political spectrum, whether they hate me or love me. For them, it’s the only solution for my community. It is viewed as the easiest thing in the world. It’s only a few thousand dollars, movers, packing up all of your life in various boxes, securing a job, and making 2.5-4 times the rent, depending on where you decide to move. The hidden disclaimer is the hardship of starting over and leaving friends and family behind.
There is never a middle-ground reaction when I tell people I live in Florida. It’s either seen as a vacation hotspot or a birthplace of rigid and violent ideas spawned by our state legislature and Governor.
Unbeknownst to many, Florida is one of the most diverse states in the country. It has the third-largest immigrant population, the second-largest trans community, and the largest number of pride festivals. Over a decade ago, we were seen as a significant battleground state. We were on track to elect a Black Progressive Governor and were recognized as a haven for abortion access in the South
I moved to Florida when I was only 13. Although a portion of my identity development began in Pennsylvania, the people I met in Florida allowed me to come to terms with my queer identity and find people who shared my lived experiences as both Black and Queer. The high school I attended, Land O’Lakes High School, had a Gay Straight Alliance. I was surprised a club like this could exist in the deep red county of Pasco. But during my three years there, I knew staff who were queer themselves or were allies.
When I attended the University of Central Florida, I found a community at the Multicultural Student Center (MSC). It was there I became friends with Black and Brown LGBTQ+ people and learned about the different subcultures and creativity our community has contributed.
Growing up in a strict, religious Haitian household, I often felt different and alone. The world MSC introduced me to made me realize I wasn’t. Because of MSC, I attended my first drag show, went to Creating Change an LGBTQ+ advocacy conference, attended Queer Prom, experienced my first Pride Parade, and co-planned queer events that focused on the intersections of Black and LGBTQ+ identity.
Having lived in a Northern state for a sizable part of life, I know firsthand the view that many hold about the South. They see Southerners as being complicit in the attacks on books, education, drag shows, and access to healthcare. However, the truth of the matter is that here in the South, we hate it too.
Despite losing a lot of crucial rights in this state over the past few years due to Governor Ron DeSantis and Trumpism, we Southerners never stopped resisting. Instead of leaving, we remain in the South, defending ourselves through litigation, mutual aid, peer support, and utilizing our joy and community as resistance. Despite increased threats of violence and uncertainty, we find ways to support our communities.
In 2023, Central Florida Mutual Aid organized a Trans Safety Mutual Aid fund to help transgender folks in our community, distributing over $13,000 to assist trans folks in the area with relief efforts supporting housing, healthcare, food access, and transportation. Since then, they’ve collaborated with CHXNGE, a harm reduction organization, on an event that focused on DIY HRT, as trans healthcare continues to be targeted. The Queer Trans Project, based in Jacksonville, FL, mails out free Build-A-Queer Kits quarterly that provides gender–affirming resources to the transgender community across the country and flights for those who are seeking gender-affirming care or need to flee for their safety.
[Video of Queer Trans Project Documentary: https://www.instagram.com/p/DF8quyYTpcr/ or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FxR9HJkjZc&t=44s&ab_channel=TheQueerTransProject
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Peer Support Space, created in response to the Pulse Nightclub Shooting in 2016, amplifies lived experiences by platforming groups such as the Black LGBTQ+ Space and other queer affirming spaces. Recently, they opened the first peer respite in Central Florida, Eva’s Casita, where guests, regardless of their race, sexuality, gender, or creed, can find time away during a 1-7 night stay as an alternative to mental health hospitalization.
These are just a few ways that Floridians fight back to protect each other.
What many people are coming to realize is that these ideas—both negative and positive—don’t just breed in one region. Northern states don’t only mean queer-affirming spaces and Southern states don’t only mean queer suffering. These ideas reflect the history of our country. The unpopular viewpoints of those who want to continue committing violence against Black, Brown, and LGBTQ+ people exist everywhere, as seen with the recent murder of Sam Nordquist, a Black Trans man killed in Upstate New York.
With Trump being in office—again—Americans everywhere are noticing a ripple effect that Southern activists and organizers sounded for decades. Florida, and many other Southern states, have lived through Project 2025 and Project 47 for years, with the number of anti-LGBTQ+ policies proposed in Southern states seemingly ever-increasing. Anti-LGBTQ+ hate is further spreading through our institutions, private companies, and communities since the inauguration of the Trump-Vance Administration.
Southerners do not deserve to be thrown under the bus when we don’t vote a certain way. We have been systematically disenfranchised by our political system, and are faced with candidates who ignore our plight and run for notoriety rather than the common good. This does not mean we do not want better. Because we know we do. That’s why we show up for each other, for the people who need us and understand our struggles.
It’s why I and so many folks throughout Florida do the work that we do. Florida will always be worth fighting for, regardless of the number of registered Republican voters or unfavorable election night poll results.
To be Queer and Trans are forms of liberation, not confinement. Where we come from are pieces in our origin stories. We all deserve to live in our home states authentically and unapologetically.
Orlando has pushed me to be the advocate and community member I am today: a person who fights back to protect our rights during a time when those in power are seeking to rip away the rights our ancestors and fellow organizers have fought for and won. I know the resilience that Southerners show every day will serve as a catalyst for all Americans who feel scared, alone, or hopeless as we navigate this administration. It has always been the people who have led the charge to the progressive changes we needed, not politicians or political leaders.
They can remove our access, pass unpopular laws, and sign executive orders. But they cannot take away our dignity, our love, our hope, our stories, and how we show up to protect and provide for one another.
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