Moving to Another State Because is Gay Friendly Might be a Mistake

A scene in central Denver, with a clock tower rising above a green, and foliage in the foreground.

Though cities like Denver are more expensive than the smaller, rural places that transgender people might be leaving, they may find better job prospects there. Credit...Jimena Peck for The New York Times

At the end of this posting with Stephanie, I will give you part of my experience also but the place is NYC.

 

By Lydia DePillis

 

When Stefanie Newell decided to move to Denver last year, the choice was about acceptance. Feeling comfortable as a transgender woman didn’t seem possible in San Antonio, her hometown, in the midst of a flood of Texas legislation targeting the L.G.B.T.Q. community.

But the decision also had financial implications. In San Antonio, she lived with her mother, and the cost of living was generally low. Just driving her stuff two states north wiped out her savings.

“I thought I was well prepared, and when I arrived I was flat broke,”* said Ms. Newell, 25. And Denver isn’t cheap: Her one-bedroom apartment downtown costs about $1,800 a month, which she pays with a mix of part-time paralegal work, freelance writing and editing, and ad revenue from her content on Instagram. “It’s taken off to the point where I’m not in the negative,” she said. “It definitely gets close.”

It’s a choice that gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people in the United States have made for decades: Move from a less welcoming part of the country to one, usually a coastal city, with more protections and a bigger community. The price of tolerance was higher rent. 

The need for relocation seemed to be declining in the 21st century, as gay marriage became the law of the land and pride went mainstream. But over the last two years, a flurry of laws banning transition care for transgender youths — variations of which are now on the books in 25 states — have sent more people in search of sanctuary.

Even though most of the laws are based on gender identity rather than sexual orientation, the impact goes beyond transgender people. Abbie Goldberg, director of women’s and gender studies at Clark University in Worcester, Mass., regularly surveys L.G.B.T.Q. individuals and families. In one recent study, she found that Florida’s law restricting discussion of sexual identity in public schools made parents who are L.G.B.T.Q. more likely to want to leave the state.

“All of these attacks affect us in different ways,” Dr. Goldberg said. “I think generally speaking, there are not a lot of people saying: ‘Well, you know, it’s just those trans kids. We’re gay parents — this has nothing to do with us.’”

It’s impossible to track the migration with any precision. The census identifies same-sex couples, but is only in the early stages of asking about sexual orientation and gender identity.

Nonetheless, experts and advocates for L.G.B.T.Q. rights say queer people are moving with increasing frequency as gender identity heats up as an issue for the Republican Party. Doing so is often possible only for those with greater means. 

“Finances are the No. 1 predictor,” Dr. Goldberg said. “People who feel unable to even consider moving are usually either lower income or they feel they don’t have great employment prospects in other states.”

Personal situations differ, but on average, states whose laws are more hospitable to L.G.B.T.Q. people also have a higher cost of living, according to an index assessing the state-level policy environment by the Movement Advancement Project, a policy and research group, and pricing data from the Commerce Department.

It’s More Expensive to Live in L.G.B.T.Q.-Friendly States

Places that protect LG.B.T.Q. rights, as measured by the Movement Advancement Project’s scale of supportive and restrictive laws, also tend to have a higher cost of living, expressed as a percentage of the national average.

Source: Movement Advancement Project, Commerce DepartmentBy The New York Times

Reddit forums are full of people asking strangers which communities are both affordable and queer-friendly, with answers including places like Albuquerque and Burlington, Vt. But the range of viable options has narrowed in that blue cities in conservative states, like Austin, Texas, and New Orleans are no haven from state laws.

That’s why Mindi Mercer transplanted her four children from Raleigh, N.C., to Michigan last year. Her son Micah, 14, had come out as transgender during the pandemic, but was on a long waiting list to see an endocrinologist who could prescribe a course of treatment. In the meantime, he was having trouble in class and suffering socially. 

Last August, the state banned gender-affirming care for minors, Micah’s appointment was canceled, and Ms. Mercer, 39, didn’t hesitate. She quit her job at a construction company, loaded the family’s possessions into a trailer and drove 800 miles to their new home. The process cost more than $10,000, and while Ms. Mercer found a new job within a couple of months, they had to take on debt to make the move.

“We’re still financially further behind, trying to make up for that,” she said. But it was worth it: Her son has been able to get treatment and had a much better school year. “He feels affirmed and supportive and just really settled into who he is,” she said.

As the impetus for migration has grown, organizations have stepped up to help with the cost. Ms. Mercer got help from the Campaign for Southern Equality, which has dispensed about $500,000 to 1,000 families and individuals across the Southern states with $500 grants every six months to travel for health care or relocate permanently.

The PFund Foundation, an L.G.B.T.Q.-focused philanthropy based in Minneapolis, raised $360,000 to support people affected by new laws in North Dakota, South Dakota, and Iowa, all of which have banned gender-affirming care for minors, while Minnesota passed a “refuge” law protecting transgender children, their parents and providers from legal repercussions. Pfund said it was aware of 200 people who either had moved or were in the process of doing so, though the total is likely higher.

Ms. Newell and her friend Keira Richards started an organization, the Trans-Continental Pipeline, to help transgender people coming to Denver. It’s mostly a volunteer effort, with a network of case managers who help with questions like where to live, how to find doctors, and where the roller derby teams play. But they’d like to raise enough money to establish a halfway house of sorts, where transgender people can land while they get settled.

“Right now we have people waiting in these unsafe states waiting for a good housing situation to come along,” said Ms. Richards, 25. Even though Denver is more expensive than the parts of rural Alabama or Tennessee they might be leaving, transgender people have a hard time finding jobs in those states anyway.

“They’re being openly discriminated against in employment, so most of them are unemployed,” Ms. Richards said. “It’s basically between homelessness and going to a more expensive area.”

One way to defray the cost of moving and living for queer people is by working together.

Lily Weeks had been able to obtain hormones during her transition process while attending Florida State University in Tallahassee. Shortly before she graduated last summer, the state barred nurse practitioners from dispensing gender-affirming medications. (The law was overturned in federal court last month.) She had planned to stay in Tallahassee at least until her girlfriend finished her senior year, but the new law made that idea untenable.

Luckily for her, Ms. Weeks wasn’t the only one in her mostly queer social group wanting to leave: Three other friends pledged to flee with the couple, and they settled on Baltimore, renting a house on the edge of the city, sight unseen. 

The group got donations through GoFundMe to help with moving expenses and put the rest of their savings toward settling in their new home while they looked for jobs. Ms. Weeks, 22, an aspiring teacher, found a position as a literacy tutor in an elementary school — an opportunity she is sure would have been denied her in Florida. She takes art and film commissions for extra income.

“We were just relying on each other to pull through,” Ms. Weeks said. “At this point, everything’s pretty stable. We’re struggling, but we’re struggling like most Americans are.”

Lydia DePillis reports on the American economy. She has been a journalist since 2009 and can be reached at lydia.depillis@nytimes.com. More about Lydia DePillis

@This is the same as my story. My story is coming back to New York City, never have I been so needy and for a while unable to work.

Never fully recover. The answer was to return to where I was, Florida staying with a friend who cared for me. I had not been taken care of by anyone except my parents. Always independent and working before I finish School. My doubt was that my friend would want more and I would find myself on the streets. In New York, I got housing in a program that doesn't pay more than 1/3 of your income. I moved against all my being saying don't do it, declare bankruptcy instead. When I moved to the Bronx have been attacked twice. I believe I am too white for the area and have been told so. 

Case in court the 17 because I was attacked but I was arrested for punching. Yes, this is New York. When they see you as a victim they pile on you, came back against my reasoning but had to take care of Mom and she was too sick to move back to Fl. She died within 9 months of arriving to take care of her. Rent went up unnecessarily 3 times what it was. Not aware of programs to help. Here asking for help is not enough. You have to know the system, get in it, and move with it. Unless you are being transferred to New York or have enough money to last you a while don't move to New York. Moving in with a boyfriend or friends is fine but dont take the plunge without someone waiting for you on the other side. LGBTQnpeople are people and thus behave as such.

 

*Adam