Living History: How Black Trans Mutual Aid Keeps Us Breathing

Happy Black History Month, family.

Black History Month collage with three photos of Jim McHarris in work attire. Text reads "Jim McHarris" and features a Gender Health Center logo.

When a lot of people talk about Black History, they treat it like it is locked away in a museum. But for us at the Gender Health Center, this month is a living, breathing reality. It is entirely fueled by the spirit of our ancestors. We are simply continuing the blueprint laid out by the pillars of our community.

We honor mothers like Miss Major, who was out on the streets housing girls and making sure we survived the HIV epidemic when the rest of the world looked away. We also lift up names like James McHarris, a Black trans man in the 1950s who worked as a preacher, a mechanic, and a cab driver, carving out a whole life for himself in a society that wanted him invisible. That specific lineage of making a way out of no way is exactly what we lean on today.

Smiling Miss Major sits in a cozy room, wearing a necklace and bracelets. Black and white photo, relaxed and content mood.

And let’s be completely clear, we need that ancestral strength right now. The current administration and the endless wave of anti-trans attacks are taking a massive toll on our mental health. We are literally watching our healthcare get snatched away, with new federal proposals actively trying to block Medicaid from covering our life-saving treatments.

Because our community is being so heavily demonized, the ripple effect is hitting our livelihoods hard. We are seeing trans women getting less and less work. Those media appearances and speaking circuit invitations are drying up. Unless you are a highly visible, established girl like Imara Jones, the phone simply isn't ringing like it used to. Nobody is looking to hire us right now, which means so many dolls are having to completely restructure their lives. If you see our girls out here doing gig work, driving Uber, or delivering DoorDash, understand that this is what survival looks like when the system pushes you out.

This is why we have to get back to the root of mutual aid. The care we provide at GHC and the support we give each other is never "charity." Charity is a top-down concept. Mutual aid is lateral. It is the exact same safety net Black trans people invented decades ago when the government refused to build one for us.

When the state tries to ban our healthcare, mutual aid is the community fund that helps a sister pay for her hormones out of pocket. When the anxiety of these daily political attacks gets too heavy, mutual aid is the direct cash transfer that helps someone make rent, keep their lights on, or cover the travel costs to get safe medical care out of state. We are having to find alternative ways to support our community because the traditional avenues are being closed off.

The reality is that we have to save each other. We always have. If you have the resources this month, pour them into local mutual aid efforts. Check on your trans siblings. Support the girls who are hustling to make ends meet. We are carrying an incredibly heavy load right now, but we are also carrying the brilliant, unbreakable legacy of every Black trans person who fought to be here.

Trans fam, let's keep taking care of each other. That is the highest form of Black history.

Two black silhouettes of hands reaching for each other over the text "WE NEED EACH OTHER," conveying a message of unity and support.