Street food goes as far back as . Four thousand years ago, city dwellers short on time, money, or cooking facilities patronized street food vendors offering quick, cheap, and tasty meals. 

In colonial America, the street was the supermarket. City residents shopped at outdoor markets for meat, bread, and produce, according to Cindy R. Lobel, author of . By the early 1800s, “hot corn girls,” mainly African American women, sold ears of corn from buckets in cities. In New York City, each wave of immigrants took their turn: Italian women peddled preserves made from scavenged fruit, German mothers hawked bread from baskets, and Jewish men dished out pickled herring and vegetables from barrels.

Street food is still a fixture of city life, providing a living to thousands of vendors and affordable food to many more customers. Given the vital role of street vendors, one would expect local governments to ease their path, but nothing could be further from reality. Many cities slap vendors with large fines, criminal penalties, and in the case of New York City, and them.

In New York City, the (SVP) is fighting back by working with more than 3,000 street vendors to publicize the essential services they provide, advocate for more official support, and end harsh penalties. Criminalization of street vendors has taken on added urgency as many are undocumented immigrants from the Trump administration’s ethnic cleansing agenda. SVP is backing before the New York City Council that would provide street vendors with more security, assistance, and eliminate criminal penalties.

The Immigration Research Initiative (IRI) 20,500 “mobile food vendors” work in New York City, 96% of whom are immigrants, and half are women. But this is likely an undercount as the in 2021, “.” Since then, more than have arrived in New York City, swelling the ranks of informal street vendors.

Street food vendors include Colombian women serving obleas, wafer cookies sandwiched with caramel, from laundry carts; Mexican families dishing out tamales, pozole, and aguas frescas from folding tables; Caribbean men grilling on a sidewalk barbecue; and the “,” a grandmother peddling savory and sweet rice dumplings out of a battered tin box on a busy Chinatown corner.

Among the newest vendors are candy sellers who navigate New York’s sprawling subway system cradling a cardboard box in one arm with colorfully arranged chewing gum, mints, and M&Ms for a couple of bucks each. Candy sellers tend to be young women, many with a child in tow or infant swaddled to their back. Most are “Kichwa-speaking Indigenous people from Ecuador’s rural central highlands,” according to . arrived in the city in the last few years, fleeing economic and social chaos by Ecuador’s right-wing government.

Vending also includes legal food trucks packed with seven cooks cranking out thousands of tacos a day, vendors who rent permits to dispense bagels and coffee, biryani, and halal chicken out of a silvery metal cart for 12 hours a day, and unlicensed carts with dishes like fish-ball soup, beef curry waffles, and tortas. Some vendors set blankets on a sidewalk with cans and bags of food likely rescued from a dumpster. Others are newly arrived Latinas by underground kitchens who haul coolers filled with South American–style lunches to midtown where Latino construction workers buy a taste of home for 10 bucks. 

Mohamed Attia is intimately familiar with the life of a street vendor. That’s not just because he is managing director of the Street Vendor Project—Attia was a street vendor for nearly a decade. After emigrating from Egypt in 2008 when he was only 20, he served up java and bagels out of a metal cart to commuters, then sold hot dogs and pretzels to tourists in Times Square, eventually graduated to his own business selling smoothies and juices from a cart in Midtown, and finally ran a halal food cart before joining SVP full time.

Among the valued services street vendors provide, says Attia, is selling fresh fruits and vegetables that are affordable and just steps from people’s homes in neighborhoods that are otherwise food deserts. 

. Three-quarters of vendors have been hustling for four years or more—and nearly 40% for a decade or longer—and selling one tamale, sandwich, and smoothie at a time is the main source of income for 80% of them. According to the IRI survey of vendors, nearly 90% want to expand their business, secure legal permits, or open a storefront eatery. “When the conditions are good, street vending can be pretty profitable,” says Attia. 

But now vendors have the added burden of being criminalized by New York City Mayor Eric Adams, Attia claims. “It is just mind blowing the amount of resources allocated to the NYPD, to the sanitation police … who are just raining down fines and handcuffs on the vendors day and night,” says Attia.

Under Adams, whom New York Magazine calls “” for bribery scandals, criminal citations against street vendors from 2019, the eve of the pandemic, to 2023. Overall, the city slapped more than on street vendors in 2024. Immigrant advocates Adams of waging “war on street vendors” by sending phalanxes of police to break up informal markets hosting scores of vendors in four different neighborhoods in Brooklyn and Queens.

As the NYPD dishes out tickets like Taco Bell does chalupas, the city has shut the door on new permits, despite a 2022 law authorizing 445 more street vending permits per year. The new law came after food vending permits had been capped at 5,100 for decades with “almost 12,000 other people stuck on an endless waiting list,” according to .��

As a solution, Attia says, “The city should reform the vending system and make it work for everyone.” To that end, SVP backs changing laws regulating vendors. Attia says they have dubbed “the street vendor reform package” are currently before the New York City Council. 

He says the is the “core” of the reform, as it would bring all vendors into the formal economy by creating thousands of additional licenses and permits over five years, and then lift limits on licenses and permits after that point. The would reduce and “hopefully eliminate” criminal liability by not involving police enforcement anymore. The would create a Division of Street Vendor Assistance within the city government to provide “support, education, outreach, and training for street vendors,” and the would expand vending locations.

Even if the city passes all four bills, street vending is still difficult. Attia says, “It’s very hard to run business out of the street in a food cart or truck. They are vulnerable to attack or being robbed. Locations are unstable. They deal with very harsh weather. Sometimes folks can’t vend because the weather is too brutal.”

Despite the difficulties, he says street vendors enjoy their work. “Most people who start vending love being entrepreneurs, they want to have agency over their business, work schedule, hours. They don’t want to look for a traditional job where they can be exploited and sometimes underpaid or treated unfairly.” 

The benefits of street food vendors extend to the entire city. Neighborhoods throughout New York City have become renowned for vendors introducing new cuisines and foods. That is a big motivation for many vendors, says Attia. “They love the experience of bringing their culture into the communities they serve.”

It wasn’t just Clark and her husband who lost a beloved home in Altadena, where they had deep roots—so deep that Katie is a highly active member of the . The couple also have a terrier, Ginger, a “very good dog,” who constrained their ability to find new housing. Some landlords flatly refused to rent to tenants with pets, while others demanded high pet deposits or monthly pet rents that made already-stratospheric pricing unsustainable.��

“There’s not a world in which we can go someplace without our dog. She’s part of our family,” says Clark, who goes on to explain she got lucky, comparatively. After a brief time in a hotel, she, her husband, and Ginger found a home in Pomona, 40 minutes away from Altadena, which, Clark is quick to say, is still home to her. 

“I don’t think of myself as leaving Altadena,” she explains. “I think of myself as temporarily displaced.”

She’s not alone: 2.5 million people across the U.S. were , the most recent year for which data is available. 

compared to . Nationwide, the U.S. Census Bureau found , especially households of color, are “cost burdened”; in Los Angeles, . In the immediate aftermath of the fires, , despite . 

Amid a national housing crisis that’s exacerbated in disasters such as the L.A. fires, Hurricane Helene, and Hurricane Harvey, there’s a particular slice of renters who are sometimes forgotten: those among the . As renters who have lost everything—or been displaced by those who can afford to pay more—scramble to find new housing, they need their pets, who can and . 

No-pets policies, as well as breed, weight, size, and number restrictions, make it difficult for families to find homes. Even when landlords allow pets, additional deposits and tacked-on, nonrefundable “pet rent” are essentially . “These layers of fees and charges related to pets, with the majority of those charges not being refundable,” act as “a revenue stream for landlords,” argues consultant Lauren Loney, who specializes in pet-inclusive housing.��

Animal welfare and housing advocates are finally understanding that pets are a housing issue. Renters feel squeezed into housing without pets, or homelessness with them. , as well as the ability to pay for care, are why people surrender their pets.

Getting to “Pets Welcome”

In a tangled, complicated housing market, this is actually a very fixable problem. 

From a regulatory perspective, pet deposits can and should be limited, along with other rental deposits. States have highly variable laws around as a deposit, from three times or more the monthly rent to just one month, many with additional fees applying to pets and furnished units. In addition, similar bounds on “pet rent” can also make housing more affordable, and spare pet guardians the bait and switch of securing a rental only to discover that it’s more expensive than advertised.��

Ross Barker, who leads the  at Michelson Found Animals (MFA), argues there’s an distinction between pet-friendly and pet-inclusive housing. 

According to MFA’s research, “pet-friendly” housing can come with barriers such as breed, size, and species restrictions; an ad might say the property “welcomes dogs,” for example, but the fine print may limit that to a single dog under 35 pounds. Other housing might allow cats and dogs, but not parrots and rabbits. 

Barker argues that true “pet-inclusive” housing includes all pets, and the distinction between pet-friendly and pet-inclusive housing needs to be resolved to expand access to the rental market. “About 80% of all rentals allow pets, that sounds pretty good,” he says. “So why are so many people struggling to find housing?”��

Seventy-two percent of renters report , according to the organization’s research, citing issues such as fees and restrictions that make housing searches challenging. In Los Angeles, they found only 67% of housing allowed pets, and after eliminating properties that charged pet fees or had restrictions on the types of pets renters can have, that number dropped to 8%. 

Resistant property owners might want to reconsider: that while pet guardians pay an average of $864 in deposits, damage (in the 10% of households where it occurs) costs around $210, with many renters electing to cover these costs themselves. Tenants with pets also stay 21% longer, cutting down on costs associated with turnover.

, a 2024 bill in California, would have limited pet rents and restrictions, but it was . In Colorado, barred additional deposits of more than $300 and pet rent over $35 or 1.5% of monthly rent. A currently under congressional review seeks to regulate breed and size limits, fees, and pet restrictions in shelters. In Los Angeles County, a proposal in December 2024 to study issues related to pets and housing.

No Pet Left Behind

Clark is also a strong endorser of tenant unions being a possible solution to this issue, as they allow renters to build strength, solidarity, and connections. “You’re a member of your community, and you shouldn’t be treated like a second-class citizen just because you don’t own property,” she says. 

Being a renter doesn’t make residents less engaged. Clark has served on the since 2018 and explains that the library is playing an active role in supporting the community after the wildfires, including setting up wifi hotspots, distributing hygiene kits, and working with L.A. County to provide services to kids displaced by closed schools.��

Looking to the aftermath of the Lahaina fires on Maui, she says renters were “left to their own devices,” a common phenomenon for a community that can be challenging to organize. 

Finally, considering the needs of evacuees with pets needs to be part of disaster planning. U.S. emergency planners learned a stark lesson from Hurricane Katrina, when around 250,000 pets were left to weather the storm, with , even as some people refused to evacuate without their pets, while buses and shelters refused to take pets with their guardians. 

The response of a horrified public pushed Congress to pass the . The PETS Act requires the inclusion of animals in evacuation and sheltering planning, with some regions, such as New York, implementing highly successful animal disaster planning, while others, such as Texas, . 

Hurricane Katrina also changed emergency response for animal welfare organizations such as Humane World for Animals, a major player in disaster response , with organizations, for example, freeing room in local shelters by transporting existing populations of adoptable animals out of area and to increase the chances of reunions.  

People in the United States love animals, from A Quiet Place’s and I Am Legend’s to real-world counterparts such as , , and the . That devotion is sometimes expensive—pet guardians spent more than , according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics—and heartbreaking, with animals leading short, vibrant lives.��

Fully pet-inclusive housing would open up opportunities to keep pets and their people securely housed as loyal, long-term tenants building community, just like Clark in Altadena. “There will be another crisis,” Clark says, and “whatever that next crisis is, attention will shift, and all the folks in Altadena are still going to be dealing with this…this is going to be a really long road.”

There were also government stimulus checks and the expanded child tax credit that slashed poverty by and supported many families through the COVID-19 pandemic’s economic crisis. It seemed as though we were beginning to adopt a new paradigm for assistance centered on efficiency, trust, and dignity.

But, as the political landscape is moving to the right faster than ever, could all that progress be lost? Basic income experiments are now facing from several states legislating against the visionary idea of granting individuals cash with no strings attached. And, as the Trump administration pledges to dismantle social programs and make life harder for those on welfare and those who don’t earn an income, it may seem like our window has passed to advocate for the right to a financial floor independent of work. 

However, giving up on the idea of a world where our intrinsic value is detached from our productivity would be a mistake. Basic income is meant to address the very economic insecurity and anxiety that helped fuel conservative populism.

Making a forceful case for a cash program that would benefit the vast majority of American residents is now more crucial than ever. New data from OpenResearch’s cash transfer program, the most comprehensive undertaken in this country, suggests basic income may even . 

It is time to consider a bold paradigm shift. In the philosophy world, we might call this “normative change”—an opportunity to change not just how we deliver social protection, but also what we think we owe each other. 

, which provided $1,000 monthly payments to 2,400 artists across New York State for 18 months, recently released findings from its . The research revealed significant benefits of guaranteed income on artists’ financial stability, creative output, and overall well-being. Key findings include a 19% increase in time spent on arts-related labor, improved work-life balance for 75% of caregiving artists, a 19% reduction in food insecurity, and a 29% reduction in severe anxiety and depression.��

The study, conducted by a multidisciplinary team of researchers, underscores the transformative potential of cash transfer programs for artists, addressing systemic inequities and enabling creative workers to focus on their craft. These findings make a compelling case for investing in artists as essential workers, supporting both their financial needs and creative contributions to cultural and economic ecosystems.

Artists are often pillars of their community. They work hard, like most people, and contribute . They also contribute to the well-being of our communities: embellishing our spaces, enriching the lives of children, preserving old cultures, and helping new ones emerge. They lift us when we are down and ensure we remain uplifted. When we strengthen them economically, we strengthen everyone. 

There can be a tendency in progressive movements to present basic income almost defensively, as a program that will not reduce employment hours or result in labor market withdrawal on the part of recipients. That’s understandable, and it is true: Research on cash programs has generated that people will withdraw from the labor market en masse if they get unconditional cash. In fact, it’s often .��

But UBI shouldn’t be considered a good idea only if it results in no changes to our current labor market participation. It is a good idea, whether it stimulates productivity or not. Basic income was always about reassessing the centrality we place on paid employment to make ends meet. At the origin of basic income was the powerful idea that we should stop viewing the right to an income exclusively through the lens of productivity and embrace instead our universal dignity—what , who advocated for a universal right to welfare, called “the right to life itself.”��

Artists are used to being berated about their impractical and financially irresponsible aspirations, often being told “to get a real job.” This approach to artists is insulting and based on false representations given that  

Nonetheless, such representations make artists the “hard case” for basic income. And so, to convince people that we need a guaranteed income floor, it can feel easier to start with non-artists. That’s why, in public discourse, the figure of the “working poor” is so central. 

But this is precisely why we need to make the case for a guaranteed income for artists. If we can agree that even artists deserve unconditional cash, we will have won the moral case for everyone else too.��

Why haven’t we invested more dollars in national cash programs given that research shows it is a simple and effective antidote? This is partly thanks to our puritanical obsession with paid labor. It’s also because of the conservative argument that providing a modicum of support for artists, friends, and neighbors will lead to a plague of laziness. 

It’s time to reject the insulting and damaging myth (often gendered and racialized) that low-income families are unmotivated layabouts. We need to establish an unconditional right to an income to help us build a more humane society where no one is relegated to a life of poverty and no one has to grow up with the looming threat that they could one day be left with nothing to survive.

This normative change would be beneficial for more than economic emancipation. With our productivist paradigm comes that of competition: competition for jobs, for resources, for status, for esteem. This is unleashing a politics of envy and resentment: for the welfare recipients, for the non-white applicants who get spots at elite colleges through DEI efforts, for immigrants who come to the U.S. for better prospects.

This logic of competition and scarcity mindset is driving us into a downward spiral and, perhaps most importantly, it is teaching our next generation that value in life comes from being better or having more than others. There is little room for dignity, solidarity, trust, and human flourishing, and this is underserving all of us. Guaranteeing everyone’s right to a modest income independent of labor will not change everything, but it can help us make room in our society for these alternative sources of value.

With the current freeze on federal funding—and its severe impacts being felt across industries—philanthropists and grassroots organizers have a unique opportunity to join forces and shift the paradigm. In today’s hostile political climate, funders and organizers must defy fear-mongering, reject conformity, and shift strategies—and they must do so together. 

This is the moment to be bold and to expand infrastructure and sustainable systems for justice. We can’t afford to wait and see just how bad things get, or to hold onto philanthropic resources until the next presidency. Real change demands more than one- or two-year commitments. We need major, sustained, decades-long, trust-first investments in the people who have the experience, courage, and vision to challenge the status quo.

Indigenous Resilience Must Be Bolstered 

Indigenous communities are no strangers to long-term struggle. From the American Indian Movement and Landback efforts like the Klamath Dam removals to the recently successful Free Leonard Peltier campaign, Indigenous leaders have consistently organized with minimal resources against the most powerful and violent systems in the world. Indigenous peoples’ continued commitment to justice, rooted in multigenerational resistance, is a testament to the power of sustained movement work.

Meanwhile, the resources Indigenous organizers can access pale in comparison to well-funded efforts like Project 2025. This initiative to dismantle federal agencies and consolidate power among the ultra-wealthy is the result of decades of unwavering commitment from the far right. It is bankrolled by billionaires from . 

With Trump’s reelection, the far right has gained significant momentum and is rapidly advancing its radical vision built and supported by billionaires. From page one, Project 2025 makes clear that the conservative movement has been organizing against governmental power since the 1970s, with its predecessor, the “Mandate for Leadership,” released in 1981. Utilizing this framework, the far-right movement had a goal of establishing a conservative administration in 2025 that would enact policies to fulfill the mandate’s “conservative promise.” With Trump’s re-election, they are making tremendous headway toward actualizing their vision.    

The Heritage Foundation and other conservative organizations have demonstrated the effectiveness of well-resourced, long-term organizing. Philanthropic organizations that are instead committed to justice must apply similar dedication and boldness. 

Without a comparable match to the well-oiled machine the right has built, we risk further entrenching authoritarianism and systemic injustice. We’re already seeing rapid moves toward this, only two months into the second Trump administration. But with 30+ year investments, progressive movements can make real and lasting moves toward justice. 

Trust-Based Grantmaking Practices Need to Be Standard

Following the murder of George Floyd in 2020, many foundations pledged to adopt social justice frameworks and increase their giving. Yet when faced with the existential threat of authoritarian governance, those same foundations withdrew funding from civic engagement initiatives altogether. 

Many are following the Trump administration’s lead and abandoning their partners by watering down their narrative strategies or even eliminating their DEI programming. This kind of cowardly reaction is the opposite of what should be happening. Foundations are some of the best positioned organizations to leverage change that would otherwise be impossible without their support. 

Foundations too often bend to the winds of change, becoming tight-fisted in times of political uncertainty. But these are the very moments when it’s critical to release resources to those who can use them in the most effective and creative ways to resist and build something different. This is when funders should make meaningful investments in people who can and will weather all storms. 

Further, foundations must move away from the transactional, risk-averse model that requires grantees to justify their existence at every turn. Trust-based grantmaking, which provides flexible, multi-year general operating support, allows movements to adapt and thrive. Funders should consider the long-term vision of grantees and support their strategies without micromanaging the path they choose to get there. 

This partnership can manifest in many ways. One way is by providing multi-year general operating grants with no reporting requirements, like the Radical Imagination Family Foundation’s six-year commitment to NDN Collective’s general operating expenses. Another way is by releasing large investments to community trusts who can lead hands-on initiatives, as the Bush Foundation did in 2020 when it established with NDN Collective and to close the racial wealth gap.

Each organization received $50 million to launch five-year initiatives that address the systemic wealth disparities among Black and Indigenous individuals across Minnesota, North Dakota, and South Dakota. In addition, the Bush Foundation increased their regular grantmaking programs by $50 million.  

These “acts of power sharing,” as the Bush Foundation describes them, can be as simple as sharing a grantee newsletter. Or it can be increasing current commitments to have a bigger impact, as the MacArthur Foundation and a few other supporters of NDN Collective have done in recent months.��

Resourced Movements Yield Real Change 

Philanthropy’s reluctance to invest deeply in grassroots organizations often stems from risk-assessment models that fail to grasp the realities of systemic oppression. Wealth-holders, many of whom are disconnected from marginalized communities, frequently lack the lived experience to judge what is or isn’t a risk.

During the 2024 election cycle, many movement organizations experienced a funding cliff that affected their ability to proactively engage with communities and develop political education strategies. This denial of funding requests left organizers without financial support to provide critical safety and security measures for staff and community members against politically motivated attacks like doxxing attempts. 

Foundations are too often focused on investing in reactionary initiatives that lack a real community-based lens and approach, which only amplifies the “white saviorism” trope so often displayed in social justice spaces. Instead of perpetuating these hierarchical dynamics, funders should trust those closest to the work to determine how resources are best used.

The fight to free Peltier is a striking example of the power of an adequately resourced grassroots movement. Peltier’s release this year was a testament to the persistence and resilience of Indigenous organizers and their nearly five decades of unwavering advocacy. During Peltier’s most critical time of need, grassroots organizers, movement and nonprofit leaders, policymakers, and community members stepped up and came together, determined to change the conditions of one individual who had the U.S. government stacked against him.��

We are aware that our movements will remain under political attack, facing more intensity with the current regime. However, we also know that together we have the power to create the conditions needed to set new precedents. Imagine what could happen if that same multigenerational, coordinated energy is applied toward the goal of our collective liberation from an authoritarian state. 

Breaking Free From Performative Philanthropy

Providing long-term grants is an important starting point; true support requires actively engaging with grantees. Meaningful relationships are built through regular conversations, site visits, and opportunities for collaboration. Funders must also be good guests in the space of grantees, being present and respectful to listen, learn, and seek to understand. Indigenous organizing relies on engaging in meaningful ceremony, where the offerings of wisdom and consensus are received by a collective to envision a better path forward. 

NDN Collective is dedicated to building the collective power of Indigenous people while dramatically increasing philanthropic investments into Indigenous-led organizations and initiatives. In determining how to distribute funds, uses specific tactics to help us fully understand our relatives and their concerns, while informing our approach as an accessible community resource.

Our staff members regularly attend city council, tribal council, and school board meetings; go door-to-door to gather data; host town halls, direct action, and safety-related trainings; and gather frontline narratives. This informs our wealth rematriation strategy, which has moved $107 million since NDN Collective’s founding in 2018. 

Organizational staff such as program officers can play key roles translating grantee stories to the board, advocating for grantee needs, and leveraging additional funding in a foundation. Now more than ever, we need program staff and leaders to advocate for their grantees, appeal to their boards, and most of all, to be reliable.

In a time of increasing authoritarianism and social fragmentation, philanthropy must rise to the occasion. Foundations must ask themselves: What would it look like to relinquish power and control over wealth that was built through the exploitation of Black and Brown people? How can we use our resources to support movements that are already working toward collective liberation—and currently managing to do so with only table scraps? 

The path forward requires financial support as well as a willingness to stand in solidarity. True commitment means embracing uncertainty, taking risks, and staying the course even when victory seems distant. 

The far-right’s dedication to sweeping change has shown the effectiveness of long-term, large-scale investment. It’s time for philanthropy to match that commitment in service of justice. The future of our communities depends on it. 

Lau, who was living in the Washington, D.C. area at the time, began specifically searching for housing for aging transgender people, but she discovered how little support is available for trans people experiencing housing insecurity. “There was nothing available,” she says. “Nothing in the state of Maryland or D.C. was available at all. So I put a campaign out on Facebook about starting my own nonprofit for senior housing.”

That’s when Lau met Iya Dammons, the executive director at Baltimore Safe Haven, who hired her as the house manager for the organization’s senior home in 2019. Currently, Lau says Baltimore Safe Haven is the only transgender-specific housing provider in Maryland, with five different houses throughout Baltimore and a sixth property underway.

“[Baltimore Safe Haven] is the [only] housing provider for transgender people in the state that [is actually] dedicated to people within the community,” she explains, an issue that persists across the country as housing-insecure trans people of all ages seek safe, dignified shelter and learn that it often doesn’t exist.

in their lifetime, according to the . And if these numbers weren’t stark enough, data indicates that both homelessness and —the wider spectrum of insecurity ranging from frequent moves, overcrowding, and trouble paying rent—have dramatically risen in recent years among trans, nonbinary, and gender-nonconforming people.

Though homelessness is , trans people have been hit harder than other populations. Between 2017 and 2019, the National Alliance to End Homelessness found that went up 57%, while the rate increased by 80% for gender-nonconforming people.

That trend has continued, according to more recent data published by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD). From 2022 and 2023, increased by another 31%. This community is also —living on the streets—when compared to their cis counterparts. It is also worth noting how young homelessness can start for trans and nonbinary people: A found that between 35% and 39% of trans and nonbinary youth have experienced either homelessness or housing instability.

Housing remains a critical and generational issue for the trans community, but as we enter into a second Trump administration, there are now additional roadblocks to consider. 

During Trump’s first term, the administration proposed anti-trans changes to , which required housing facilities and other federally funded services to ensure equal access and accommodations regardless of gender identity. The proposed changes were never enacted. In 2021, former President Joe Biden issued an against gender- or sexuality-based discrimination, including those impacting the Fair Housing Act. HUD later announced it would around sexuality and gender.

During his second term, Trump is once again swinging at both housing protections and trans rights. In addition to a wave of anti-trans , newly appointed recently ordered staff to suspend the efforts. Though the National Alliance to End Homelessness points out that , it is unclear how, exactly, this order will impact trans and gender-nonconforming people seeking housing.

No matter who is occupying the Oval Office, trans people need safe, dignified housing. So, across the country, housing advocates and trans-led organizations are filling in these gaps by advocating for and building better housing practices.

Cracked Foundations

There are a number of systemic factors that lead to housing instability. The is the most obvious culprit, according to Donald Whitehead, executive director of the . The cost to purchase a home has skyrocketed by , and the majority of people are struggling to manage mounting, and largely unregulated, .

“[Trans people are] in the largest numbers [of homelessness], according to , the largest number that we’ve been in the history of those counts,” says Whitehead. “[Those] counts started back in 2007 … and we’re at the highest level [of homelessness] in that span. And most believe the highest level in history.”

Costs have been driven up in part by a familiar equation: low supply, high demand. To ease the housing shortage, researchers estimate that the U.S. needs to build between across the country. Despite this conundrum, some cities are still partnering with high-end developers to rather than mid-range and low-income units. 

For example, there are an in Los Angeles County. The average rent price for a two-bedroom apartment is just under $3,000, according to , but for luxury apartments, rent can easily stretch into the double digits. Developers can then generate much higher profits building luxury housing than mid-range two-bedroom apartments.

Additionally, Whitehead says “structural -isms” such as racism, gender discrimination, and ageism all contribute to homelessness, as do “, emancipation from , the lack of resources for people leaving the criminal justice system, and lack of mental health resources.” Climate change, which leads to stronger, more frequent natural disasters, may also and drive up .

But there are certain factors, including familial rejection, , and , that make trans and gender-nonconforming people uniquely vulnerable to being unhoused. 

Housing support led for and by the trans community is often a matter of safety. According to the , 44% of trans people experienced mistreatment at a shelter, including harassment, assault, or being forced to present as the wrong gender. Another 41% report being denied shelter access altogether. Though there are legal protections designed to prevent discrimination on the basis of gender and sexual orientation, privately run shelters often . For example, some faith-based shelters may only take heterosexual married couples or cis women and children, which can of safe housing.

This dangerous and exclusionary atmosphere means that many gender-expansive people avoid shelters. Instead, they may risk unsheltered homelessness, which can increase the likelihood of hate crimes, arrest, and illness. According to the��,��63% of unhoused transgender people��are unsheltered.��For unhoused cisgender people, that number is 49%.��

Building Better Housing Practices

At the policy level, there are a number of ways to improve housing access. To prevent homelessness, Whitehead says states need better zoning laws, regulations for landlords, increased wages, and . Meanwhile, more comprehensive, national standards around shelter conditions would help increase accountability and ensure safety in the now. 

Realistically, the Trump administration is unlikely to usher in any federal housing wins over the next four years—though strides can still be made in the courts, state governments, and through a bipartisan congressional push. But smaller-scale changes can have a big impact on trans people’s access to housing—and these strategies can be implemented without overhauling the entire housing market, economy, or executive branch.

For Beth Gombos and Ashton Otte, organizers at Trans Housing Initiative St. Louis (THISL), better access and competent service for the trans community begin with education. THISL works directly with shelters, housing providers, and other entities that might harm trans people or or turn them away. 

“We’re training them to learn how to interact with and accept and serve trans and gender-nonconforming people with respect,” says Gombos, who is the organization’s cofounder and executive director. 

Typically, this work begins by teaching trans identity 101: gender identity, sex, pronouns, and myth busting. “We start off by trying to build a level of understanding and basic empathy for this community,” says Otte. From there, THISL educates housing providers on anti-discrimination protocol and their responsibility to ensure care and access for the trans community. 

In their work, Otte says they’ve seen many shelter providers who are simply unaware of federal shelter regulations and mandatory anti-discrimination standards.

THISL is also educating trans and gender-nonconforming people on homeownership, financial wellness, and their housing rights to ultimately help people “get into these systems and these programs that would not typically have space for them or make space for them,” says Gombos.

In 2023, THISL partnered with the Metropolitan St. Louis Equal Housing & Opportunity Council to on fair queer and trans housing practices. The report recommends not only policy, but also basic trans-inclusive housing practices, ranging from basic pronoun usage and inclusive intake forms to ID documentation services and diverse hiring practices.

“ There are a lot of ways that you can subtly but very intentionally support this community, even without those non-discrimination policies in place,” says Otte.

We Take Care of Us

Though equitable housing policies are needed at the federal level, trans-led organizations are not waiting for the federal government to take action. They are already taking care of their own. 

Sean Ebony Coleman, founder and CEO of the Bronx-based LGBTQ grassroots organization , says housing support goes beyond providing a safe place for unhoused people to be.

 “One of the biggest issues is that everyone’s at a different level when it comes to being ready to access housing, particularly independent living,” says Coleman. “The conventional shelter model has just this one-stop-shop approach, right? It’s just ‘You’re going in, we’re going to house you, you’ll stay for a little while, [and] we’ll try to get you into transitional housing or some type of supportive housing.’ [But they’re] not really going to train you as far as getting better employment or securing a better job or even sending you back to school.” 

For Coleman, getting into a shelter is just the first step. Destination Tomorrow’s housing support also includes building wraparound services that consider the care of the entire person, including offering independent living support, career and academic opportunities, culinary training, mental health care, and financial literacy programs. 

Coleman adds that providing documentation services, such as covering the cost to change a name or gender marker on identification cards and birth certificates, is a critical “first step” to addressing the root causes of trans homelessness. Accurate documents are a building block for gaining employment, accessing higher education, and even traveling.

So far, Coleman says Destination Tomorrow has served about 50 people through their Sex Workers Immediate Temporary Comprehensive Housing program, which offers emergency housing for trans, nonbinary, and gender-nonconforming sex workers and domestic and sexual violence survivors in the Bronx. Coleman says Destination Tomorrow has also made more than 700 housing referrals around New York City.

Destination Tomorrow is now gearing up to open a brand-new shelter that can house up to 300 trans single adults—an especially underserved demographic. In New York City, Gothamist estimates that the city’s traditional homeless shelter system only has for single adults in a city with more than 200,000 shelter-seeking migrants and an estimated .

“We’re one of a few trans providers when it comes to doing housing for single adults,” says Coleman. “That was also incredibly important, because the landscape that we came up on was [that] you have housing for youth that went up to [age] 25, and then you had housing for seniors that started at 55. If you were in the middle of that, you just had to try to figure out how to navigate a system that wasn’t designed for you and at all prepared for your success.”

“ The biggest impact is we give folks hope,” Coleman continues. “In this moment of uncertainty, trans people need to feel as if there’s community there for them. And not just within the trans community, but overall, whether it is lesbian, gay, or bisexual, whether it’s the Black community or the Latinx community, whatever it is, we need to feel like there is some love in their space.”

Since the new presidential administration has entered the White House, there have been a number of , including the Equal Employment Opportunity Act of 1965 and the resulting equal protection clauses that have been in effect for decades. These policies—many of which have been gutted via executive order—were created to ensure women, low-income folks, disabled people, members of racial minority groups, and other historically disprivileged groups in the United States have equal access to the workforce.

These cuts have also resulted in companies such as�� , , and rolling back their diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives that were designed to make employment more accessible for all people, regardless of their race, ethnicity, creed, or color. The problem is that many of these same companies have been actively recruiting members from marginalized racial, gender, and class groups for decades under the premise that they actually valued diversity.��

Target, a company that has embraced DEI wholesale for the past decade, and Black-owned brands when they rolled back their DEI initiatives in January. This disappointing decision has led to calls for mass boycotts of the big box retailer, which has lost , faces plummeting stock values, and is being . Recently, Pastor Jamal Bryant, a prominent voice within Black religious communities, called on his congregation to for the 40 days of Lent to “divest from Target because they have turned their back” on Black communities. 

Despite Target’s abandonment of the DEI initiatives that ingratiated the brand to Black consumers, their recent decisions are a stark contrast to what many Black communities have come to admire them for. These efforts also brought many Black business owners to Target’s shelves. Though the company seems to have lured Black consumers and brands to their stores under what now seems like false pretenses, a prominent Black influencer, content creator, and, now, mega-brand has surprised her supporters by backing the brand. 

On Jan. 27, popular vegan influencer Tabitha Brown, whose products are carried in Target stores all over the country, posted a asking her followers not to boycott the retailer because “it has been very hard for Black-owned businesses to hit shelves.” Emphasizing how “heartbreaking” it is for her to feel “unsupported” by retailers such as Target, Walmart, and Amazon, Brown shared that she still sells her products with these companies: “I do business all over, just like many other people.”��

She then encouraged her followers to reconsider boycotting Target because of the potential long-term impact on Black-owned businesses. “What happens to the businesses that have worked so hard to get to where they are?” Brown asked her followers. “To get there, we unfortunately have to play the game.”

But how long should we have to watch a few extremely wealthy Black folks “play the game” before we acknowledge that they might be playing us, too?

“Don’t allow foolishness to take us into separation and weed us out,” she implored. The video from those who felt Brown’s message centered the needs of Black business owners over larger Black communities and their concerns about representation. Others suggested that negative responses were just rooted in a hatred for Brown.

But, others, myself included, that it was quite possible Brown’s followers were simply disappointed because they were looking in the wrong place for liberation. No shade to Tabitha Brown. She seems like a lovely human being. But is she a comrade, abolitionist, or freedom fighter? Absolutely not.��

The messaging Brown provides here suggests that the only way for Black people to “win” in this society is by playing into capitalistic, anti-Black, exploitative labor and production models that have never served us. No other event exemplifies this more than American football and the phenomenon of Black artists giving “revolutionary” Super Bowl performances. 

On Feb. 9, rapper Kendrick Lamar joined this “tradition” when he performed in Super Bowl history. In addition to being the most unrivaled lyricist alive, Lamar presented viewers with imagery of wave-cap-wearing Black men symbolically dancing in the form of an American flag, gaggles of Black folks pouring from a hoopty on stage, and even dressed as Uncle Sam. And Lamar performed all of this in front of the .

Lamar opened the performance by telling : “The revolution is about to be televised. You picked the right time, but I’m the wrong guy.” Playing on the iconic 1971 Gil Scott-Heron song, “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised,” Lamar excited Black viewers about the potentially disruptive and culturally impactful performance. But, honestly, that line left me at “yikes.”��

Lamar’s chart-topping song “Not Like Us” is one of the greatest and most successful diss tracks of all time. His opponent, Drake, hates it and has even . But over time, the song has moved beyond its origins to become a catch-all critique of larger culture, namely because of the line “You not a colleague/ You a fuckin’ colonizer.” 

What’s more striking is that Lamar performed this song in front of the same NFL fans who ousted Colin Kaepernick for taking a knee to protest racial injustice in 2016 and from the end zone ahead of the 2025 season. At this point, maybe the question we should be asking is: Who do we mean by “us”?

But Black folks seemed largely OK with this performance being touted as “the revolution.” Just like Brown’s request that folks keep patronizing Target, Lamar hasn’t been as critiqued as he should for giving the performance of a lifetime in front of a fascist.

Wealthy Black folks acting in their own best interests and the interests of those closest to them isn’t synonymous with Black uplift or��community investment. In this political moment, there’s a fascist who and who stands to unravel every protection and equity initiative secured by organizers and freedom fighters for the past two generations. We don’t also need more empty platitudes from Black celebrities and influencers, or pretend revolutions that line the pockets of mega-wealthy NFL owners, record producers, and racist businessmen.��

I also hope this moment is teaching those of us who are truly invested in building a freer and more just future that we won’t often find the revolutionary work of dismantling white supremacy and building a better world by looking up at people who are deeply embedded in it. We have to look at the people alongside us—the bus drivers, church mothers, nurses, school teachers, and librarians—who are not only struggling each day to confront the realities of this administration but who are directly impacted by its violent and harmful policies.

I’ve never disagreed with Lamar before, but he got this one wrong. The revolution will not be televised because the revolution won’t be happening on a football field or in store aisles. The revolution will happen where it always has: silently, quietly, and away from the white-coded and white-centered systems seeking to pacify and destroy it.