Transgender Law Student Faces Financial Consequences as Trump Policies Target Her Community

In a critical juncture for trans individuals, financial burdens and discrimination loom large as they navigate a political climate that increasingly targets their rights.

Emma, a Baltimore resident, is one such individual who has faced numerous challenges in her journey. Her story begins with a move to the city from Oregon, where she started her social transition at 23 and hormone therapy at 25. However, securing approvals from healthcare providers was an arduous process that spanned several years. Now 32, Emma has held jobs in restaurants, food production, and bars. Despite her intellectual inclinations, she has primarily worked in what she calls “banal labor jobs.”

The COVID-19 pandemic brought both challenges and opportunities for Emma. She lost her jobs as a hostess and bar back but received financial aid that opened up new possibilities. She enrolled at the University of Baltimore, completed an apprenticeship in web development, and recently earned her bachelor’s degree in simulation and game design.

However, her fibromyalgia, a chronic condition that causes pain and fatigue, poses challenges in her chosen field. Prolonged standing and sitting are difficult due to arthritis and POTS, a blood circulation disorder. There is a lack of openings in her field, and she has had only one interview so far. Financial constraints persist as she relies on gig work and GoFundMe campaigns to cover home repairs, despite co-owning a house with two life partners.

Like Emma, the location where one resides plays a significant role for Ida, another trans individual facing financial struggles. Originally from Oregon, Ida moved to Baltimore due to Maryland’s progressive policies and protections for LGBTQ+ individuals. The Movement Advancement Project ranks Maryland highly in this regard. Maryland Medicaid covers medically necessary gender-affirming care, and the state’s shield law was expanded last year to prevent the medical information of people who seek gender-affirming care in Maryland from being shared across state lines.

Ida has worked various jobs in food production, restaurants, and bars throughout her life. Despite holding a bachelor’s degree in simulation and game design, she has struggled to find employment in her field. Money is tight, and she pays approximately $400 a month on mortgage payments for a house she co-owns with two partners, along with an additional $250 for bills. Home repairs are currently being funded through gig work and GoFundMe campaigns, but the roof remains in need of repair.

Trans women Ida knows face similar circumstances: Many have degrees and professional experience yet still experience intermittent homelessness or rely on sex work and fundraising to make ends meet. Like Emma, where one lives matters significantly to her. “Baltimore is a really good city,” she says. “Maryland is a pretty decent state.”

However, federal policies pose threats to Ida’s well-being. Last year, she had her Social Security registration updated to identify her as female. Now, she worries about the government changing it back, highlighting the importance of having an ID that matches her gender presentation for both dignity and safety. She also fears changes at the federal level regarding Medicaid coverage for gender-affirming care, which varies by state.

In Seattle, Cam, a nonbinary individual who uses they/them pronouns, faces similar hurdles in their pursuit of employment in the social services sector. The rollback of protections for trans individuals in the workplace makes Cam feel as though they must sometimes choose between being authentic and securing employment.

Growing up in small-town Texas, Cam was outed as gay at 14 and came out as trans at 17. Their home life became precarious after coming out, leading them to spend much of their senior year of high school bouncing between friends’ houses. Seeking a fresh start, they enrolled at Washington State University in Pullman. They used loans, scholarships, and a program called Passport to College that helps former foster youth or homeless youth pay for school to cover the first year’s tuition.

Married to their partner, Cam is now living in Seattle and trying to make ends meet. Their partner works full-time at a restaurant, while Cam has a part-time job at a library, earning Seattle’s minimum wage of $20.76 an hour. They pay rent, bills, and manage expenses on a month-to-month basis but have no savings or emergency fund.

The job search has been challenging, and being trans adds complexity to the process. Cam initially listed they/them pronouns in their applications, but found more responses once they removed them. “And a lot of places are only hiring part time, so they don’t have to give benefits, which is hard for me because I’m on HRT.”

Cam is currently enrolled in Washington state’s Medicaid program, which fully covers the cost of their testosterone. If they were not on Medicaid, the cost would be approximately $400 for a couple of months’ supply. They are worried about a new federal work requirement for able-bodied adults without dependents on Medicaid. The provision in the new tax-and-spending bill affecting states with Medicaid expansion will require some enrollees to prove they are working, volunteering, or getting job training at least 80 hours a month in order to maintain coverage, starting in 2027. Meeting this requirement is proving difficult so far.

They also worry about the rollback of workplace protections. “You’re the first on the chopping block if you’re the most controversial person there,” they say. “You kind of have to choose between being authentically yourself in the same way everyone else gets to be – and eating and paying rent and keeping the lights on.”

Their partner, for instance, is not out as trans at work. “They’ve got what they call their ‘professional pronouns,’ which is just ‘him’ and identifying as male while they’re at work,” Cam says. One bright spot for Cam is the strength of their queer community: The couple hosts dinners and offers their couch to friends and acquaintances who are having a hard time and need a place to crash. “A lot of my social circle just passes the same $20 around,” Cam says. “It’s like: ‘I’ve got you tonight if you’ll get me tomorrow.'”