By Whit Washington, Senior Attorney for the Nonbinary and Trans Rights Project
At the heart of every civil rights movement lies resistance: resistance to systems that criminalize, dehumanize, and demand conformity. From the Pride protests in the 60s and 70s,to the HIV/AIDS activism of the 1980s and 90s, and the grassroots mobilizations against Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids today, our communities have stood up to state-sanctioned violence and demanded the right to live freely and authentically.
Stonewall wasn’t a parade; it was a protest. It was led by Black and Brown transgender people, drag queens, and LGBTQ+ youth and adults whose very existence was deemed illegal. They resisted police violence, systemic erasure, and laws that sought to suppress their identities. Today, we see similar resistance in immigrant communities across the United States, where ICE agents clad in tactical gear descend upon neighborhoods, workplaces, and family gatherings in militarized displays of state power. The targets may differ, but the logic is the same: to punish those who dare to exist outside white, cisgender, heteronormative, English-speaking, and citizen-dominated norms.
The trans rights movement and the immigrant rights movement are not just allies — we are intrinsically linked. Our communities face overlapping forms of oppression: surveillance, discrimination, detention, criminalization, and denial of basic human rights. And we are united by a shared demand for self-determination. Whether fighting for the right to live safely in one’s chosen country or one’s affirmed gender, both movements assert a fundamental truth: we all deserve to live fully and without fear.
The lived experience of this intersection is not theoretical. It is embodied by people like Sylvia Rivera, the child of Venezuelan and Puerto Rican parents; a survivor of gender-based familial abuse, homelessness, survival sex work; and the co-founder of Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (STAR). For Sylvia, community and resistance were found not in mainstream respectability, but among those who, like her, were pushed to the margins: sex workers, street queens, trans women of color. These were not criminals, they were lovers, caretakers, fighters, truth-tellers, and visionaries.
It is a hapless reality that the leadership of a nation built by generations of immigrants now elects to escalate its legacy of selective exclusion and double down on violence against the recent generations of immigrants. LGBTQ+ immigrants, especially those who are undocumented, transgender, and Black or Brown, experience disproportionate harm. There are an estimated 1.3 million LGBTQ+ immigrants in the U.S., including nearly 290,000 undocumented adults. These people face compounded barriers: racial profiling, workplace and housing discrimination, targeted deportations, and denial of essential health care. Transgender immigrants are often criminalized not for acts of harm, but for existing in ways that challenge binary structures.
In immigration detention, abuse is acute. LGBTQ+ people are 97 times more likely to be sexually assaulted than their cisgender, heterosexual counterparts. Specifically, trans people in immigration detention are routinely misgendered, denied access to hormone therapy, and placed in solitary confinement under the guise of “protection.” But solitary is not safety — it is torture. It is a brutal punishment for refusing to conform.
Too often, immigrant rights are framed as contingent on productivity or assimilation. We are told immigrants must prove their worth through hard work, economic output, and flawless character. But human rights are not earned, they are inherent. Transgender people especially know this logic well. We have long been asked to prove our “authenticity” to access health care, accurate identification documents, and basic legal protections. But individual dignity must never be tied to performance. It must not be measured by how well any of us fit in, how much we contribute, or how politely we endure injustice. Our value lies in our humanity and our solidarity.
The parallels between ICE raids and the police repression at Stonewall are not symbolic; they are structural. Both rely on ruthless, arbitrary enforcement and a demand for conformity. In 1969, police demanded proof of gender, searched bodies, and arrested queer people for wearing the “wrong” clothes. In 2025, ICE uses racial profiling and minor or invented infractions, like overstaying a visa, as justification for detention and deportation. These systems operate on the same premise: that certain beings, bodies, and identities are threats to the dominant order and must be regulated or removed.
But where there is repression, there is also resistance. Protest has always been our response when legal systems fail us. From Stonewall to today’s ICE resistance, marginalized communities have used collective action to demand change. In Los Angeles, we see trans and immigrant-led coalitions blocking ICE vans, sharing resources, and asserting that no one is disposable. Organizations like CHIRLA and the TransLatin@ Coalition remind us that the most powerful movements center those most affected. They are building mutual aid networks, suing to stop solitary confinement and access denials, and standing in the proud tradition of trans and queer revolutionaries.
At Lambda Legal, we know the fight for trans rights is the fight for immigrant rights. The criminalization of identity, whether it be through anti-trans legislation or anti-immigrant ICE raids is a threat to us all. That’s why we are proud to stand in solidarity with our communities at the margins: trans immigrants in detention, undocumented organizers in the streets, and every person demanding to be seen and heard.
We don’t honor Pride by waving rainbow flags while remaining silent in the face of injustice. We honor Pride by remembering its roots in resistance and continuing that resistance today.
To our trans siblings in detention: we see you.
To our immigrant siblings facing deportation: we stand with you.
To everyone fighting for a world where we can all belong: your fight is our fight.
Let us build that world together beyond borders and beyond binaries.
From Stonewall to today, protesting has always been a part of our power. The right to protest is a cornerstone of our democracy, and the First Amendment protects our ability as LGBTQ+ people to protest our oppression. That’s why Lambda Legal has partnered with leading legal organizations to create a guide to make sure everyone––from first-time marchers to seasoned organizers––has the resources they need to protest safely and powerfully. Check out the “Best Practices for Safe Protesting” guide here.