At the beginning of class, Chijoke “Chi” Williams invites her trans self-defense students to “shake it out” and simply get moving. “There’s so many people with complicated relationships with their bodies,” she told LGBTQ Nation. “Resyncing at the beginning of it can be really helpful.”

The personal lived experiences of trans folks can make it more challenging to embrace the physical practice of self-defense. For one, trans people may feel dysphoric and have more barriers to feeling comfortable or secure in their bodies, which alone can create a level of vulnerability when it comes to self-defense and the foundations of a physical practice. Easing in, therefore, is essential. Instructors must ensure folks feel safe in their bodies while inviting them to confidently take up space. 

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These can be crucial tools for trans folks in this context and typically come before any instruction on physical techniques and maneuvers. 

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Williams works with Chicago’s Transgender Action Self-Defense Collective (TASC), one of many emerging groups across the United States that provide self-defense training and resources specifically for trans people. TASC evolved from an existing group of LGBTQ+ volunteers who joined forces to combat local anti-LGBTQ+ efforts, like protests of drag brunches and all-age drag shows. It reflects one of the many defensive strategies embraced by queer communities across the country.

Trans folks have unique needs that the world of self-defense has historically failed to recognize. These community-driven groups offer a variety of classes on the array of practices trans folks need to keep themselves safe. 

These grassroots efforts provide much-needed support and protection, recognizing the mounting fears shared by transgender Americans as the current administration ushers in a new and supercharged era of anti-trans hate.

The pendulum swings back

For trans Americans, the writing has been on the wall for some time. 

The 2010s saw some major strides for LGBTQ+ folks, with nationwide same-sex marriage legalization alongside newfound visibility and recognition for the trans community. Following the 2016 election, the federal government began weaponizing and specifically targeting LGBTQ+ people with harmful legislation, exacerbating the fears and lack of understanding many Americans still shared.

With these efforts growing more aggressive and violent over time, the optimism of prior years shifted into something much more sinister. The years that followed saw exponential increases in anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, the bulk of which continues to target trans people. By the turn of the decade, communities throughout the U.S. were already years into creating new resources to combat the changing narrative.

Organizer and founder Nikki Nguyen launched Trans Defense Fund Los Angeles in 2020, when the U.S. was in the midst of a historic confrontation with systemic racism.

She noticed that Black trans women were seldom included in the conversation, and after a transphobic attack on three trans women of color in Hollywood, she decided it was time to act.

“I am somebody who experiences both racism and misogyny,” Nguyen told LGBTQ Nation, “and it was just a no-brainer for me as a cis ally to understand that Black trans folks have always had to deal with extreme levels of [violence]. I really just wanted to step in and help where I could.”

On the East Coast, New York City’s Fearless Queers experimented with one-off self-defense classes throughout 2021. In the years since, they created an established community presence with monthly self-defense classes centering the queer and trans community. 

As co-founder and program director Chrissy Rose explained, LGBTQ+ folks have specific needs when it comes to self-defense training and also have less access. For these reasons, alongside the disproportionate levels of violence queer and trans folks continue to face, Fearless Queers further expanded their programming and presence throughout New York City.

“When I started martial arts, I found myself very frightened on a daily basis,” said Tara Bankoff, co-founder and instructor for Fearless Queers. “I’m a trans woman, and I was running into issues early on in my transition. Training in martial arts gave me much more confidence in my daily interactions, and I wanted to have an opportunity to provide that for other trans people.”

Self-defense versus combat

Self-defense involves defending one’s health and well-being from harm, rather than merely glorifying combat. 

Trans women are at higher risk of being criminalized or socially punished for defending themselves, and as such, they may feel more hesitant to do so. A 2016 report from the Movement Advancement Project said, “there have been documented cases where a transgender person involved in a hate incident was charged with a crime for defending themselves against a perpetrator, while the perpetrator was not charged.”

So while each group does maintain a focus on the physical maneuvers trans folks need to protect themselves, including movements that may help them break free from an attacker rather than explicitly fighting them, they also focus on strategies to entirely diffuse situations. This might include yelling, putting your hand out, or making noise to stop an attacker who is far away, with other strategies taking center stage if the attacker comes closer.

“Self-defense, often, is what you do to survive and get out of a situation,” Williams said. “Fighting is an entire skill set on its own that can lend itself to self-defense, but it is what you do when you have no other choice.”

As Trans Defense Fund LA grew over time, Nguyen said that finding a variety of self-defense experts who were not only qualified to teach the skills but also equipped to work directly with the trans community became easier. 

“I am so lucky to have been able to meet queer self-defense trainers who have a lot of different areas of expertise, know how to speak to their community, and actually facilitate a safe space,” she said.

Fearless Queers offers two monthly classes. The fundamentals class is explicitly for the queer community and includes a mix of practical, easy-to-learn techniques primarily taken from Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and full-contact karate alongside verbal manipulation techniques developed from Traction Project curriculum. The second is a semi-instructed open mat format, which is open to all queer folks and allies, made to apply the skills from the fundamentals class and incorporating a wider range of perspectives. 

“We’re not watering it down,” Bankoff said. “While they are basic techniques, they are applicable to many scenarios and can be done by most body types against most other body types. So we’re very careful about the specific techniques that we choose.”

While incorporating elements of Tai Chi and boxing for TASC, Williams said the basics, like having a solid stance, knowing how to torque your body for maximum impact, and knowing the most vulnerable places to strike are some of the most important.

“It’s teaching power and prudence,” she said, “and I really like balancing both of those out.”

“You are worth defending”

As trans folks embrace practical self-defense skills, they unlock a certain sense of empowerment that is needed now more than ever.

“The movie that we have in our head is not one where queer, trans, and femme people are strong and able to defend themselves,” Rose said, “and that both plays into us being more likely to get picked and less likely to stand up and say, ‘No,’” 

Nodding to a concern of many attendees that they may make an attacker angrier, Rose argued, “We need to interrupt that script. We need to make them rethink the attack, whether they don’t think it’s going to work, it’s not worth it, it’s just not going the way they thought it was going to go. That’s really powerful.”

All three groups said that folks who attend these classes return each time with more power and confidence.

Micah Kincaid, one of TASC’s formative volunteers, referenced one attendee who consistently joins every class, despite being an hour from Chicago in Darien, Illinois. “There is always somebody who’s like, ‘Thank you for teaching these classes. I already feel better and more confident.”

Bankoff said a primary goal of Fearless Queers is “to create a world in which queer people don’t need to defend themselves because we’re not being attacked.”

It goes beyond self-defense, too. Advocates hope their efforts establish a network of resources and community support that anyone in need can lean on.

“What I’m trying to do is build a group of people that you can keep company with when you have no one else,” Kincaid said. “This is what we mean by collective or community. It’s one thing to be like, ‘I’m part of the trans community because we share an identity.’ It’s another thing to be like, ‘I know other trans people in my personal life who I can rely on for assistance, and when I’m in a better spot, I can potentially help out.’”

As an ally, Nguyen said she is often met with shock that she is not trans herself as the founder of Trans Defense Fund LA. She said this speaks to the “insanely low number of allies doing any tangible work or actually showing up for this community.”

“The revolution will not be just shared through empty slogans on Instagram and lawn signs and ‘I hear you and I see you’ BS,” she said. “It takes action and it takes standing up for injustices, even when nobody is watching you.”

The success of these groups is a testament to the strength and resilience of the queer and trans community, despite unprecedented circumstances. Even for LGBTQ+ folks who may not have direct access to self-defense classes, self-care is an essential piece of this broader puzzle.

“You are worth defending,” Rose said. “That’s physical defense, but that’s also taking care of yourself in this time. It’s beautiful to be queer. It is magic to be queer, and it’s also hard. So, community defense starts with you if you’re queer, because you’re in the queer community.”

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