From the Front Lines: The Urgency of Our Work

部落客 珍妮佛·萊維酷兒與跨性別權利資深總監

Sunday brought another slew of late-night filings because this administration is refusing to follow basic rule of law principles, following two court orders that temporarily block them from moving transgender women to men’s prisons. It caused me to think even more deeply about the urgency of GLAD Law’s work. I am grateful for GLAD Law digging in so deeply in this moment and, in so doing, spurring our colleague organizations and the local communities of which we are all a part to stand up to injustice. 

Here’s why my current legal work feels so urgent. 

While the Trump administration’s policies are based on their belief that transgender people don’t exist (we, of course, exist, have through the generations, and are not going to stop), what’s happening right now is especially alarming: they’re testing how much brutality Americans will tolerate against vulnerable people. 

Right out of the gate, I knew we had to challenge the Day 1 “Gender Ideology Order” directing the transfer of transgender women to men’s prisons. This brutal order isn’t just about transgender women – though the government’s own data shows they face 10 times the risk of violence in men’s prisons than others. It’s testing how we, as Americans, respond to cruelty and brutality being carried out in our name. It’s no coincidence that the part of the Executive Order directing the transfer of women to men’s facilities was the most concrete and the most quickly acted upon by the new administration – that’s why we had to move so quickly, why I found myself flying to DC on a minute’s notice.

What’s at stake in this moment goes far beyond any single policy – it’s about whether we’ll maintain the moral strength to recognize and resist authoritarianism.

I learned crucial lessons as a kid raised on a visual diet of Holocaust documentaries (and what Jewish kid in the 70s wasn’t that kid), but I understand them differently now. Do you know Martin Niemöller’s famous poem? The one that begins, ‘First they came for the communists‘? I used to think it was simply warning us to stick up for others because we might be next. But now I see its deeper truth. When a regime with no moral values—or whose only value is the pursuit of absolute power—targets its first group for brutalization, that moment is crucial. What I understood when I learned it was the child’s lesson: defend others because you might be next. That’s true and important. But the adult understanding cuts deeper: if you don’t act when that first group is targeted, you become complicit in a fundamental shift in governance. You become part of the machinery that attacks and degrades others. 

By staying silent, you slowly and incrementally abandon your own values and lose track of your moral compass. So by the time the government turns on you, it hardly matters – you’ve already become part of their machinery of control, another instrument in a regime that devalues human life to maintain its grip on power. When you accept the brutalization of the weakest and most rejected corners of your society, what’s happening is that you are actively becoming a participant in a terrible experiment. Your government is testing just how much brutalization and torture you can tolerate. They do it openly because that’s the only real test – seeing what you’ll accept when you can’t pretend you don’t see it, which is also why we are seeing it escalate. More brutality and more open displays of it.

That is what is happening right now. The administration is testing those of us not bearing the most significant weight of their brutality, even as transgender women in prison, transgender homeless people being turned away from shelters, and transgender adolescents losing medical care face the most immediate and severe impacts. They are testing the rest of us to see how much we can and will live with and tolerate in a country that brutalizes people. How much will we step in, or how much do we even think we can step in to protect others? Like, right now. 

This isn’t about policy or governance. It’s about a regime marching towards total control and understanding that such control requires not just brutalizing vulnerable people, but making the rest of us either actively complicit in or numb to that brutalization. When we accept their rewriting of reality at home – their lying claims that transgender people don’t exist or aren’t worthy of protection or even humanity – we’re being cultivated to accept bigger lies.

This isn’t just about how this country will treat a small, vulnerable group – though transgender rights have become an alarming measure of our democracy’s health – it’s about what kind of country we’re willing to be. 

We can see it rolling out on the global stage as well with Ukraine: Trump calling Zelenskyy a dictator and criticizing him for supposedly not holding elections, completely reversing his earlier statements about Ukraine’s right to exist. This isn’t random: It’s the same cold, calculated strategy of moral erosion. He’s testing how much reality-bending the American public will accept, because each time we let these lies stand and allow ourselves to become desensitized to the brutalization they enable, we move closer to accepting autocratic control both at home and abroad. What’s at stake in this moment goes far beyond any single policy – it’s about whether we’ll maintain the moral strength to recognize and resist authoritarianism. 

I’ve spent years fighting state transgender health care bans and helping create new legal roadmaps, like in Florida, where we got a landmark decision recognizing the DeSantis administration’s targeted effort to deny transgender people’s existence and right to thrive. That experience has led me to focus now on challenging the federal government’s brutalization of transgender women in prisons and defending some of the most courageous plaintiffs you’d ever want to know – transgender service members who put their lives on the line for their country every day. 

I’m fighting for the America I thought I knew growing up – the one that, for me at least, fostered a love of country and the Constitution that forms its backbone. It’s the one that taught me a fundamental truth: everyone deserves to live with dignity and have their worth seen and recognized by others – whether they hold power or have been stigmatized and pushed to society’s dark recesses. The stakes couldn’t be higher. This isn’t just about how this country will treat a small, vulnerable group – though transgender rights have become an alarming measure of our democracy’s health – it’s about what kind of country we’re willing to be. 

And our response to the treatment of vulnerable people here isn’t just about domestic policy – it’s about whether we’ll maintain the moral strength to recognize and resist authoritarianism in all its forms. This beautiful, brilliant experiment in democracy that I have loved and revered throughout my life has always been flawed. But it has allowed many people to thrive – and has immense potential for so many more. Now, it may be approaching some kind of ending – but I’m not there yet. Work remains to uphold its values, principles, and the practical ways it makes life better for people. We all have to do our part – and for many of us, far more than our part – to challenge, call out, and oppose the brutalization happening in our midst. 

We must act even when we think it doesn’t touch us directly, or we tell ourselves it doesn’t. Because distance from brutality offers no protection from its reach.