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‘I’m physically afraid to live here’: The LGBTQ people planning to leave Trump’s US
“I’m physically afraid of being here now,” says Ryan Gierach, glancing out the window of his apartment in San Pedro, Los Angeles. He always loved living in this working-class neighbourhood, right by the seaside. “I’d planned on being in this little place until I died.”
But the return of Donald Trump to the White House on 20 January heralds more than a new political era. Ryan, a 66-year-old retired historian, says he foresees a new social reality in which LGBTQ people are at risk, once again.
“I can predict with some confidence that we’ll see an increase in hate crimes, and an increase in harassment that won’t go charged as hate crimes. A lot of prosecutors will shrug their shoulders,” he says.
“And I see an encouragement, a wink-wink, nudge-nudge [by the Trump administration] to the worst elements in our nation. I fully expect murders of LGBTQ people to increase,” he says.
“That’s why I’m leaving the country.”
Ryan knows what Trump has said about LGBTQ people (the “transgender cult”, “gender insanity”, calling trans women “men”) and he’s heard the Republicans’ policy proposals. He also knows his history, he says; the waves unleashed by certain types of leaders.
Trump made trans people a focal point in his re-election campaign. Republican candidates sank a reported $65m on anti-trans television adverts, the most prominent of which came from the presidential campaign: “Kamala is for they/them. President Trump is for you.” It’s a classic technique using a wedge issue to provoke hostility against the whole LGBTQ community, Ryan says.
“It creates the base atmosphere of hatred, distrust, and permission to punch down,” he adds. He invokes the lynchings of Black people in the early 20th century but thinks it will look different this time.
“We don’t hang people anymore. We shoot people dead,” he says.
Ryan has seen a lot in the last 50 years of the gay liberation struggle. Behind him, in his living room, stretches a world map covering an entire wall.
“I feel I’ll be safer in Europe,” he says. “I’m encouraging all my gay friends to leave the country.”
Ryan’s preparations are underway. And he’s not alone. LGBTQ people across America have told The i Paper of their plans to leave.
The reasons vary: the prospect of same-sex marriage being overturned like federal abortion rights. A fear that human rights and provisions for trans people will crumble. Or wider concerns a cultural tipping point is underway in which minorities will become a target for street violence and unfettered discrimination.
Trump’s team rejected such concerns during the 2024 campaign, saying he would “uplift all Americans regardless of race, gender or sexual orientation”.
What no one knows is exactly what will happen. Those with concerns point to three indicators: what Trump has said and done (which is not always consistent), what Republican politicians have declared, and what organisations supporting his presidency have advocated.
Proposals have included removing diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) schemes and other anti-discrimination protections (which could affect employment, housing, healthcare, and education), ending gender treatment (particularly for under-18s), banning trans people serving in the military, and defunding schools with LGBTQ-inclusive programmes.
Trump declared last month, “it will be the official policy of the US government that there are only two genders, male and female”. His rhetoric on same-sex marriage has varied over the years, but many expect him to oversee its reversal. In his first term, he nominated three conservative Supreme Court Justices, bringing the balance of conservative-to-liberal judges to 6-3 – some of whom have stated their opposition to same-sex marriage.
The Project 2025 policy document by the Trump-supporting Heritage Foundation said the Department of Health should “maintain a Biblically based… definition of marriage and family” – 574 anti-LGBTQ bills have already been introduced across the country in recent years, according to the American Civil Liberties Union.
Which policies will be implemented is unclear, but those who spoke with this paper describe 2025 as a precipice, with 40 years of progress towards LGBTQ equality in peril.
Rise in hate crimes
Ryan Gierach won’t be there to see it. He plans to emigrate to Sicily. He can buy a place to live for $200,000 (£159,000) and secure a retirement visa. Beyond the Italian island’s lemon groves and ancient ruins, lies a more basic attraction for him: safety.
He knows a thing or two about violence. In 1979, while serving in the US Air Force, he was raped by an officer. At the time being gay was illegal in the military, so rather than seeing justice, Ryan was discharged for homosexuality. Then in 1985, he was stabbed in the chest and left for dead by an escaped convict in a homophobic attack. “I saw the flash of the blade coming towards my neck, so I jumped back,” he says. A five-inch scar on his torso remains. He wants to avoid another.
But during the first Trump presidency, Ryan was subjected to a hate campaign in his neighbourhood. “There was a flyer dropped in people’s front yards that doxxed me and accused me of paedophilia,” he says. “A lady spat on me in an assault that I captured on camera. I’ve been assaulted several times here in San Pedro.”
The harassment was reported in the local newspaper, prompting neighbours to step forward in support, but at 66 he can’t face another attack and believes the country won’t now protect LGBTQ people.
Trump’s pick for the head of the FBI is Kash Patel, a former federal prosecutor and Trump loyalist, who critics claim will devote resources to pursuing Trump’s enemies and is unlikely to make crimes against marginalised groups a priority.
“If Kash Patel is in charge of the FBI there will be very few hate crimes prosecuted,” claims Ryan. “If there’s no deterrence, what do you imagine happens?”
Hate crimes against LGBT people rose by 23 per cent and by 16 per cent against trans people in 2023, the most recent figures available. Attacks on gay people rose by 11 per cent in the first three years of Trump’s last presidency, while attacks on trans people more than doubled.
Add to this, he says, how Trump and his party are “demonising trans people”. Republican congresswoman Nancy Mase last year introduced a resolution to prevent Sarah McBride, a trans member-elect of the House of Representatives, from using women’s bathrooms in the Capitol.
“Nancy Mase is an excellent example,” says Ryan. “They are setting a tone for [others] to lash out and unleash their worst instincts.”
Fleeing isn’t what he wants, but he feels he must. “It makes me angry. Why should we have to leave?”
It will take a year or two to complete the arrangements, but Ryan is already imagining his new life in Sicily.
“There’s nothing keeping me from leaving this country,” he says.
‘They are coming after our rights’
Across town, in the progressive, hipster neighbourhood of Silver Lake, husbands William Tutton and Alvaro Vega are reconsidering their future.
“We had been thinking, ‘Where are we going to go after we retire?’ We were thinking of small-town America but that’s off the table now because I don’t think we would be welcome,” says William. Instead, their sites are set on Mexico.
“I am moving forward with my Mexican citizenship,” says Alvaro. “I was born in Mexico, so the path is open for me to become a Mexican national.”
Alvaro, 63, and William, 61, sit side-by-side in their one-bedroom apartment. Their reactions to this moment in American history differ in style if not substance: where William uses humour, conveying a desire for distraction, Alvaro wants to confront it, fight, but ultimately, escape. Among a slew of reasons is fear for their basic rights.
“The reversal of gay marriage? We have very good reason to be concerned,” says Alvaro. “We have [conservative] radicals sitting on the Supreme Court: Justice Clarence Thomas and Justice Samuel Alito.” Both justices have criticised giving same-sex couples the right to marry.
In 2022, Justice Thomas wrote the court “should reconsider” its decision on Obergefell v. Hodges, the landmark decision that ushered in same-sex marriage across the country. As with Roe v Wade, this could be unpicked, leaving it to individual states to decide.
The immediate worry for William, a training programme designer, is the impact on his insurance. “My healthcare is through Alvaro,” he says. His husband used to work in the medical industry so has better insurance. “If we are no longer married, then I’m out in the cold. I’d have to pay out of my own pocket.”
On an emotional level, lies the extraordinary possibility of their government ripping their marriage away. William thrusts his left hand over his face to show his wedding ring.
“The honour of being able to be married is a very important thing for me,” he says. “I love wearing this ring. It’s the only piece of jewellery I wear. And I wear it with pride. If anyone asks about it, I tell them that I fought for this.”
They’re fortunate compared to some couples, says William. If gay marriage is revoked and one of them were seriously ill, their relatives would respect their right to make decisions about each other’s care. “In some families, they would say, ‘You’re no longer his husband, you don’t get to decide.” This often happened during the Aids crisis, where long-term partners were evicted from their home after one of the men died.
Overall, with the shifts in politics and atmosphere in America: “It makes me feel like we’re the calves in a rodeo, and they’re the cowboys on a horse. They’re coming after us to take all our rights,” says Alvaro.
For Alvaro, the idea of moving to Mexico is appealing, but William seems less enthusiastic. For years he was a bass player in a rock band and is still part of the artistic scene in LA. “There are large parts of my personality that depend on being in a media centre such as Los Angeles. I’ve 40 years of relationships here,” he says, “it’s hard to give those up.”
‘Not everyone can leave’
Emigrating anywhere is almost impossible for many LGBTQ people, however, particularly due to finances. But this isn’t the only barrier.
“It was the first thing we all said when Trump won: ‘We gotta get out of here’,” says Sandy Sachs, on the phone from Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
Sandy, 63, owns the oldest LGBTQ bar in New Orleans, The Bourbon Pub and Parade. Her wife is a lawyer. They both speak Spanish fluently, so have the means and mite to emigrate, plus several of their queer friends have already left the US for Mexico.
But even for them, “it’s a fantasy,” she says. “With two young children, it makes things much more difficult. They’re in school with all their friends plus my mom lives with us. She has Parkinson’s. My dad’s 95. So it would not be easy.”
Sandy’s dream is to leave for Spain. “I love Barcelona,” she says. But for a while at least they’ll stay put. “We’re going to take it as it comes. It’s just too unpredictable. Now more than ever, we all need to stay vigilant, participate a little more politically, and help each other.”
Daily life is already changing, she says, particularly in Republican states like Florida. She and her wife used to live in West Hollywood and would hold hands anywhere. “But we would never walk around holding hands here,” she says. “I don’t want to be a target.”
“Just when you think you’ve taken so many great steps forward, you can always take steps back. That’s the part that’s so shocking,” she adds.
In Philadelphia, Micheal Rice, a 42-year-old documentary filmmaker and teacher, believes America is not just heading back but towards a chilling future.
He fears that from artists to academics, people who express support for liberal causes could be under threat.
“There could be a purge of people that are not white, heterosexual males. That’s including anyone who protests,” he says. “But as a Black queer man, I’m not going to allow the current political space to mute me.”
As a filmmaker, Micheal is known for his work on Black LGBTQ subjects, and as a teacher, is open about his identity. “There’s a pride flag in my classroom and I speak to my students about it,” he says. He foresees laws that prevent teachers expressing anything about race or LGBTQ identities and funding cuts to artists who speak out about similar issues.
“Do I think I could be targeted? It’s a real possibility,” he says. Some of his financial support comes from universities in Republican states, who previously funded screenings of his documentaries through their Diversity, Equity and Inclusion (DEI) departments. But they are being cut back and Trump wants an end to DEI.
Legal sanctions could worsen the situation for teachers, he says. “I think it would come from a policy that if you utter the words ‘gay’ or ‘LGBTQ’ within an educational setting, you could be found [criminally] liable.” Prison isn’t impossible, he thinks.
“I’ve thought about moving to London, Paris or Lisbon,” he says – cities where he has spent time, where his films have been shown. “I plan on standing strong and tall until it gets to a point to where I feel it will be detrimental to me physically or detrimental to my family.”
‘I could be leglislated out of existence’
Robin S C Griffin, a 33-year-old writer and fundraising associate in Washington DC, wishes the option to leave were more available. “Except this is my home,” she says.
As a trans woman, she fears increasing limitations on healthcare and restrictions on where trans people can go, from bathrooms to public spaces. She worries too that official paperwork recognising her gender could be revoked.
“What if Trump passes a bill that defines me out of existence? And then says that my passport is invalid. That’s not unrealistic, given the state of escalating aggression that we see,” she says.
Trump has previously stated his admiration for “fantastic” Viktor Orban, Hungary’s Prime Minister, who in 2020 ended legal recognition of trans people’s gender identities.
For Robin, this would mean situations where “you’re having to out yourself, or you’re being forcibly outed by the government”, and facing a higher chance of being physically attacked.
“I live in America. I’m at risk of stochastic violence. It’s not impossible that if some yahoo sees me going into a lady’s restroom that he’s going to murder me. Those are things I have to remain aware of.”
In Odessa, Texas, a law banning transgender people from using bathrooms outside of the sex assigned to them at birth, allows individuals to sue those who violate the laws and refuse to leave for at least $10,000 (£7,960). Robin says it “empowers private individuals to sue trans people for using restrooms that accord with their gender”.
Trump is only going to embolden this type of litigation, she believes, citing a speech made at the 2023 Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC). Conservative commentator Michael Knowles, a vocal supporter of Trump, said: “For the good of society… transgenderism must be eradicated from public life entirely.”
“That got a huge roar of applause,” says Robin. The picture leaves her questioning: how bad do things have to become before she leaves? Canada would be her preference but she has no idea beyond that and doesn’t have the money. “Where,” she asks, “would we go?”
Rather than emigrating, one couple has moved from a Republican state to a Democratic one. Shortly before the election, Clint Choate, 52, and his husband Drew predicted what was coming, sold their house, and moved from Atlanta, Georgia, to Palm Springs, California.
“I couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding,” says Clint. “The one state I have some confidence in to protect my interests is California.”
He’s worried on two main fronts: gay marriage being overturned, and a torrent of hostility towards his community.
“If things get bad enough, Spain is my ultimate back-up plan,” he says. Moving, however, won’t change how he feels after some family members voted Republican.
“They love us, but it’s so disheartening that they still would choose to vote for Trump, even knowing our fears. They dismiss that like: ‘Ahh you boys will be fine.’”
How does that feel? “Awful,” he says. “That’s the hardest part we have to reconcile.”
Clint seems exhausted by the wars waged against LGBTQ people but determined to protect his new life in Palm Springs, which has one of the highest concentrations of gay people in America.
“I want to be in my bubble, enjoy my time here, and try to block out the rest of the world,” he says, before describing his childhood in the conservative South in the 80s.
“We had an older cousin who was gay, who had Aids, and our parents didn’t want us to go over for Thanksgiving, or go in the bathroom where he had been,” he says.
At 19, Clint experienced conversion therapy. “I went to a 12-step program called Homosexuals Anonymous. They also called it a deliverance ministry. The deliverance session was a group of people that would pray over me and try to cast the devil of homosexuality out of me.” His 17-year relationship with another man reveals how effective this was.
The idea America might lurch into a more intolerant era doesn’t leave Clint in despair, however. “Maybe this is the catalyst that will put us two steps forward in the future,” he says. “That’s my hope. That’s the part I cling to.”
I NEWS