836728

research-article2019
VAWXXX10.1177/1077801219836728Violence Against WomenJordan et al.

Research Article
Violence Against Women
2020, Vol. 26(6-7) 531­–554
Mandating Inclusion: Critical © The Author(s) 2019
Article reuse guidelines:
Trans Perspectives on sagepub.com/journals-permissions
DOI: 10.1177/1077801219836728
https://doi.org/10.1177/1077801219836728
Domestic and Sexual journals.sagepub.com/home/vaw

Violence Advocacy

Sid P. Jordan1, Gita R. Mehrotra2,

and Kiyomi A. Fujikawa3

Abstract
In 2013, the Violence Against Women Act became one of the first federal laws
to explicitly prohibit discrimination against transgender people, yet little is known
about its impact in practice. This qualitative study draws on in-depth interviews with
transgender people working in domestic and sexual violence advocacy organizations.
Building on critical and intersectional perspectives, the findings suggest that the
persistence of inequities for trans survivors are tied to the reliance on criminal
legal responses, contingent access to gender-specific services, compliance-focused
approaches to inclusion, operating theories of gender-based violence, and the
diversion of responsibility to LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer)
programs. This study highlights the participants’ recommendations for change.

Keywords
VAWA, transgender, advocacy services, qualitative research

Introduction
The Violence Against Women Reauthorization Act of 2013 (VAWA 2013) became one
of the first federal laws in the United States to recognize people “who face barriers in
accessing and using victim services based on . . . gender identity” (Sect. 3(9)(a)) and

1University
of California, Los Angeles, USA
2Portland
State University, OR, USA
3Community advocate, Seattle, WA, USA

Corresponding Author:
Sid P. Jordan, University of California, Los Angeles, 3250 Public Affairs Building, Box 951656, Los
Angeles, CA 90095-1656, USA.
Email: sidjordan@ucla.edu
532 Violence Against Women 26(6-7)

to prohibit discrimination against transgender people in grant-funded services.1

Although VAWA has garnered widespread bipartisan political support since its intro-
duction in 1994, Congress divided in 2012 over proposed changes that would
ultimately extend immigration protections, expand tribal court prosecutorial powers,
and enumerate sexual orientation, along with gender identity, in classifying under-
served groups in need of equal protection (O’Neil, 2013). Advocates championed the
new provisions as an “inclusive VAWA” that could address critical gaps in victim
services infrastructure for immigrant, indigenous, and lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgen-
der, and queer (LGBTQ) survivors of domestic and sexual violence (O’Neill, 2013).
These political debates and policy changes have been examined (e.g., Greenberg,
2012; Modi, Palmer, & Armstrong, 2014; Ortega & Busch-Armendariz, 2013; Whittier,
2016), but the influence of the nondiscrimination protections in practice has not been
analyzed. The protections relating to transgender survivors warrant particular atten-
tion, given the historical exclusions of transgender people from feminist anti-violence
organizing and women’s services (Califia, 1997; Koyama, 2003; Namaste, 2000;
Serano, 2013) and recent reports that lethal violence against transgender women of
color is escalating (Waters & Yacka-Bible, 2017).
This article examines the ongoing inequities for trans people in community-based
domestic violence and sexual assault (DV/SA) advocacy services following the imple-
mentation of federal nondiscrimination protections in VAWA 2013. The term trans is
used here to refer to social category (e.g., trans people, trans survivors) and social
movements advocating for the freedom of all people to self-determine and express
gender without violence or discrimination (e.g., trans justice, trans activism; see Enke,
2012).2 We briefly describe the immediate need to address violence against trans peo-
ple and the problems encountered by survivors seeking forms of relief funded under
VAWA, including DV/SA advocacy services. We then analyze in-depth interviews
with 10 trans workers in community-based DV/SA advocacy services conducted 2.5
years after the passage of VAWA 2013. Building on critical and intersectional perspec-
tives of legal inclusion, we consider, from the perspective of trans anti-violence advo-
cates, the following: Why do inequities persist for trans survivors in community-based
DV/SA advocacy organizations despite nondiscrimination protections?3 What are
some opportunities for changes within the field?

Domestic and Sexual Violence Against Trans People

Trans activists have engaged in anti-violence organizing for decades, yet there has been
fairly limited mainstream response to violence against trans people until recently
(Serano, 2013; Stryker, 2008). The National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs
(NCAVP) has reported an annual increase in the number of homicides of trans people in
the United States every year since 2013, and the vast majority of victims are young black
and Latina trans women (Waters & Yacka-Bible, 2017). Homicides involving trans vic-
tims often go unreported and remain unsolved; however, existing sources point to the
significant role of domestic and sexual violence in the reported fatalities (Talusan, 2016;
Waters & Yacka-Bible, 2017). Homicide is currently a leading cause of death among
Jordan et al. 533

young black and Latina women in the United States, and more than half are killed by a
current or recent intimate partner (Petrosky, 2017). By one recent estimate, the rate of
homicide among young black and Latina trans women (ages 18-34) exceeds the national
homicide rates of young black and Latina women, respectively (Dinno, 2017).
A comprehensive view of the scope and prevalence of domestic and sexual violence,
including lethal violence, in the lives of trans people is curtailed in part by a lack of
reliable data. Public records and population-level surveys tend to reproduce dominant
social ideologies of sex and gender that treat “males/men” and “females/women” as
cohesive and mutually exclusive categories, facilitating an epistemological erasure of
trans people and experiences (Namaste, 2000). To address the dearth of data on inter-
personal violence, Stotzer (2009) cross-analyzed community-based surveys of trans
adults with social service records and police reports and found particularly high rates of
sexual violence overall, with a majority of cases involving known individuals (i.e.,
intimate partners, family members). The 2015 U.S. Trans Survey (USTS) provides the
largest national sample of trans and gender nonconforming adults in the United States
to date; of the 27,715 respondents, the majority had experienced intimate partner vio-
lence (IPV) in their lifetime (54%), including a quarter reporting “severe physical vio-
lence” by a partner (24%). Nearly half had experienced sexual violence in their lifetime
(47%), including one in 10 (10%) who reported experiencing sexual violence in the
past year (James et al., 2016).
To the extent that trans survivors have been included in empirical studies of domes-
tic or sexual violence, this has primarily occurred within broader examinations of
LGBTQ experiences of IPV (Brown & Herman, 2015; Wirtz, Poteat, Malik, & Glass,
2020). Scholars, activists, and survivors have described the heightened vulnerabilities
to domestic and sexual violence among LGBTQ people as rooted in social, political,
and economic conditions that systematically devalue and diminish LGBTQ lives and
relationships (Patterson, 2016; Ristock, 2011). Yet research on LGBTQ experiences of
IPV is most representative of gay and lesbian people or those described as being in
same-gender relationships. Scholars and advocates concerned with the particularities
of trans survivors’ experiences observe how pervasive social stigma and structural
exclusions may be uniquely leveraged as a tactic of IPV, for example: threatening to
disclose a person’s trans identity against their interests, refusing to acknowledge a
trans person’s gender identity, monitoring or scrutinizing a trans person’s gender
expression (e.g., whether they “pass” as a non-trans person), withholding or control-
ling access to gender-affirming medical treatment, and using trans identity as grounds
to contest parental rights or discredit witness statements in courts and with law enforce-
ment, advocates, family members and friends, and other potential interveners
(Bornstein, Fawcett, Sullivan, Senturia, & Shiu-Thornton, 2006; Courvant & Cook-
Daniels, 1998; Guadalupe-Diaz & Anthony, 2017; Ristock & Timbang, 2005; Wirtz
et al., 2020). More broadly, social and structural inequities increase situational vulner-
abilities to violence for trans people, such as high rates of housing insecurity and
homelessness, economic discrimination, reliance on survival sex and poor conditions
in sex work, disability, and incarceration (James et al., 2016; Jauk, 2013; Kattari &
Begun, 2017; Lombardi, Wilchins, Priesing, & Malouf, 2001; Spade, 2015).
534 Violence Against Women 26(6-7)

Exclusions From Services Funded by VAWA

VAWA underwrites funding allocations for criminal legal interventions (e.g., law
enforcement, prosecution strategies, courts), victim assistance and advocacy services
programs, and state, territorial, and tribal coalitions designed to respond to domestic
and sexual violence, dating violence, and stalking. Legal scholars describe patterns of
acute discrimination, harassment, and mistreatment of trans victims both by law
enforcement and when seeking criminal and civil legal remedies, such as the failure to
respond or take victim statements, attacks on witness credibility, misidentification of
survivors as perpetrators, unjust arrest and detention, and victimization while incarcer-
ated (e.g., Goodmark, 2013; Greenberg, 2012; Mogul, Ritchie, & Whitlock, 2011;
Spade, 2015). Findings from the 2015 USTS illustrate that discrimination and mistreat-
ment by law enforcement are pervasive and disproportionately affect trans women of
color (James et al., 2016). Negative police encounters, including profiling and harass-
ment, deter trans survivors from pursuing law enforcement and other legal interven-
tions (Guadalupe-Diaz & Jasinski, 2017; Jauk, 2013).
Community-based DV/SA advocacy organizations are often better situated to pro-
vide support and resources to survivors outside the criminal legal system, such as
emergency and confidential shelters, crisis hotlines, support groups, individual coun-
seling, and advocacy services. Yet patterns of discrimination and mistreatment in
social service settings and shelters, including DV/SA advocacy programs, are well
documented (e.g., James et al., 2016; Kattari & Begun, 2017; Mottet & Ohle, 2006;
Seelman, 2015; Stotzer, Silverschanz, & Wilson, 2013). Guadalupe-Diaz and Jasinski
(2017) found that trans survivors of IPV often avoid gender-based DV services in
anticipation of misunderstandings or mistreatment and may perceive these services as
inaccessible or irrelevant to their situation. Researchers in Los Angeles found that DV
advocates were often ill-equipped to provide advocacy for LGBTQ survivors and that
programs did not tailor their advocacy strategies to address specific needs (Ford,
Slavin, Hilton, & Holt, 2013). In remarking on the nondiscrimination protections in
VAWA 2013, Calton, Cattaneo, and Gebhard (2016) speculated “it is possible that
organizations will need to make such substantial changes to their infrastructure in
order to be truly inclusive that they will take little action unless the provision is
enforced via federal regulations” (p. 11). Although the previous literature has empha-
sized the need for nondiscrimination policies, little is known about how the federal
mandate in VAWA 2013 has influenced practice, nor has a sustained discussion
emerged about what truly inclusive services would entail and how DV/SA advocacy—
as a field—can address endemic violence experienced by trans people.

A Critical and Intersectional Approach to Analyzing Inclusion

In the early 1990s, critical race scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw (1991) studied some of the
barriers faced by low-income women of color who tried to access DV advocacy ser-
vices in Los Angeles. She used the term “intersectionality” to describe an analytical
lens that could take account of the interactions of race, class, and gender in
Jordan et al. 535

understanding violence against women. This influential essay built on and expanded
existing critiques that dominant feminist agendas were driven by the needs and priori-
ties of white, middle-class, and heterosexual women (e.g., Hull, Scott & Smith, 1982;
Moraga & Anzaldúa, 1981; Pharr, 1988). An intersectional analysis is now widely
employed in research and practice (Hill-Collins, 2015). Here, we are interested in
Crenshaw’s foretelling analysis, written on the cusp of the passage of the original
VAWA (1994), where she observed that DV services based on “uniform standards of
need” (p. 1250) often failed to meet the needs of poor women of color because of the
ways they were differently situated in their economic, social, and political realities.
VAWA has been increasingly analyzed in intersectional feminist critiques as a
nexus of contradictions, reflective of what Kim (2012) describes as the “paradoxical
nature of social movement success” (p. 1277). Passed as a part of a major crime bill,
VAWA consolidated significant state resources for a once grassroots and decentralized
feminist response to rape and battering, and in so doing changed anti-violence dis-
courses and advocacy strategies toward greater alignment with the strategies of neo-
liberal governance (e.g., welfare austerity, individualized services, criminal legal
remedies; Bumiller, 2009; Ferraro, 1996; Kim, 2012). Mehrotra, Kimball, and Wahab
(2016) describe the combined historical effects of neoliberalism, professionalization,
and criminalization as “the braid that binds” contemporary DV/SA advocacy practice,
requiring its depoliticization and reproducing inequities for those who historically
have been excluded.
Efforts to enumerate “gender identity” as a category in antidiscrimination protec-
tions within VAWA 2013 were enabled in part by a broader policy agenda of civil
rights and trans advocacy groups working to secure legal recognition and resolve
uncertainties for trans people bringing discrimination claims on the basis of “sex”
(Currah & Minter, 2000). Yet the advocacy surrounding the new provisions in VAWA
2013 promoted a familiar slippage between the potential for discrete legal relief from
discriminatory actions and broader claims of trans inclusion in the federal response to
gender-based violence. That is, the provisions were imbued with symbolic assurances
of equal access to federal resources by mandating inclusion. Despite the further addi-
tion of gender identity into the categories of those “underserved” by VAWA, the speci-
ficities of the needs of trans survivors were rarely engaged in Congressional debates
or related advocacy efforts (Greenberg, 2012; Whittier, 2016).
Critical race theorists have argued that equal protection policies offer a narrow
remedy for the most blatant, individual forms of discrimination while eschewing per-
sistent structural inequalities (Delgado & Stefancic, 2017). Building on critical race
theory and women of color feminism, Dean Spade (2015) cautioned trans advocates
against foregrounding advocacy for legal recognition in a struggle for trans liberation,
contending that the focus on antidiscrimination policies reflects a fundamental misun-
derstanding of their function. Arguing that such policies alone cannot meaningfully
redistribute resources, Spade (2013) proposes a “critical trans politics” that is “suspi-
cious of formal declarations of equality” and “vigilant about co-optation, asking
whether such declarations have had the material impact promised” (p. 1042). We build
on these critical and intersectional analytical frameworks by comparing
536 Violence Against Women 26(6-7)

the universalizing claim that VAWA is now inclusive of trans survivors against the
material impacts in DV/SA advocacy practice. In doing so, we heed concerns of trans
activists not to universalize “violence against trans people” (Namaste, 2009) by pay-
ing attention to how and where meaningful differences emerge, particularly as they are
structured by racism, engagement in sex work, and gender identity or expression.

Method
Research Design
This qualitative study aimed to highlight the underrepresented perspectives of trans
people working as anti-violence advocates to examine the ideological and practical
challenges of trans inclusion and to elucidate these advocates’ recommendations for
change. Interview data were collected as part of a broader project titled Trans
Perspectives on the Anti-Violence Movement conducted in collaboration with the
National LGBTQ Domestic Violence Capacity Building Learning Center (“Learning
Center”) in September 2015. The interviews were conducted by the first and third
authors, respectively, a trans white person who worked at a county-wide coalition of
DV/SA programs and a mixed-race trans woman who worked in a culturally specific
DV/SA organization. In focusing on interviewing other trans practitioners, we aimed
to value their theoretical insights, which are too often rendered invisible within the
field of practice. We assumed that other trans practitioners would (a) have experience
working with a number of trans survivors and could draw on a broad base of experien-
tial knowledge; (b) be engaged in advising their local and regional colleagues about
trans inclusion, equipping them with insights beyond their own single-agency setting;
and (c) possess a particular attunement to inequities facing trans survivors based on
their personal experiences as trans people. We approached practitioner-based research
as particularly appropriate to a study of advocacy, honoring the history of community
workers at the forefront of theorizing domestic and sexual violence and its
interventions.

Recruitment
We recruited trans people working within community-based DV/SA advocacy set-
tings, including LGBTQ-specific anti-violence advocacy programs, through an
announcement circulated through email lists and networks of the Learning Center’s
partner organizations. The research team identified 18 potential participants. Because
several potential participants worked at the same few LGBTQ-specific organizations,
we limited interviews to two people from a single organization to help ensure organi-
zational and regional diversity. Ten interviews were completed representing eight
organizations. While it is unknown how many trans people work in the DV/SA advo-
cacy field, most participants who were contacted for this study did not know of another
trans person who met our criteria and was not already involved in the study. To the best
Jordan et al. 537

Table 1.  Participant Demographics.

Region Initials Gender identity, racial/ethnic identitya

Northeast R.B. Transmasculine, black Latinx
M.A. Trans woman of color, African American
H.G. Trans or FTM, black/African American
S.W. Transgender man, multiracial/multiethnic
D.T., Trans/male/genderqueer, white
West E.K., Trans/female, Mexican
U.T. Trans and genderqueer, white
N.N. Transgender woman, Latino
L.Z. Genderqueer, white
South M.H. Queer/genderqueer/trans/trans woman/
woman, white

Note. FTM = female-to-male.

aIdentities are listed as defined by each participant.

of our knowledge, those we interviewed did not differ significantly from the group that
was not interviewed in terms of job role or gender and racial/ethnic identities.

Participants
The 10 interviewees lived and worked in seven cities in six states in primarily large,
coastal urban centers. Geographic and work setting information as well as racial/ethnic
and gender identities for each participant are presented in Table 1. Nine were currently
or recently employed in a DV/SA advocacy program or organization and one was a regu-
lar volunteer with a rape crisis program. Five of the participants worked within LGBTQ-
specific organizations and one worked in an LGBTQ program within a mainstream DV
organization; four participants worked or volunteered in a mainstream DV/SA organiza-
tion or program. Although not a central focus of this study, we note that several partici-
pants spoke about barriers for trans people seeking employment in the field.

Interview Procedure
The interviews were conducted using video-based conferencing technology and a
semi-structured interview guide. Interviews lasted approximately 90-100 min. The
focus of this article draws principally on participants’ responses related to (a) how
anti-violence organizations are working to address violence against trans people and
the barriers they face in doing so; (b) root causes of sexual and domestic violence in
the lives of trans people; and (c) recommended directions and aspirations for the field
of DV/SA advocacy to better address the advocacy needs of trans survivors. All inter-
views were recorded and transcribed for analysis.
538 Violence Against Women 26(6-7)

Analysis
Both interviewers read the transcripts and independently identified initial themes and
blocks of text to create a provisional descriptive memorandum. The memorandum was
shared with participants, and three contributed feedback as a form of member check-
ing (Creswell & Poth, 2017). The second author, a South Asian cisgender queer woman
with a background in DV in LGBTQ communities, joined the research team for this
analysis.4 The three authors reread the original transcripts and the descriptive memo.
Through immersion in the data, we identified key dimensions, themes, and subthemes
based on the research questions and emergent patterns. A secondary selective coding
process was used to elucidate multivocal perspectives and to further highlight themes
that addressed the intersections of race and gender. To address trustworthiness, we
engaged in peer briefing to review primary data against our emerging analyses and to
challenge assumptions from our own work in the field (Creswell & Poth, 2017).

Findings
Throughout the interviews, participants drew on their experiences providing direct
advocacy for trans survivors and their perspectives working in the DV/SA advocacy
field. Many also referred to their own experiences surviving violence, including child-
hood sexual abuse, parental violence, IPV, violence in the sex trade, and attempted
murder. Most participants were involved in trans activism work, such as facilitating
youth support groups, organizing cultural and educational events, and volunteering
with trans-led organizations. Our analyses identified the following five interconnected
themes related to ongoing inequalities for trans survivors: (a) fear of and resistance to
utilizing the criminal legal system, (b) exclusions in gender-based programs, (c) the
limited impact of compliance and competency approaches to inclusion, (d) advocacy
practices focused on a single source of violence, and (e) the diversion to and overbur-
dening of LGBTQ programs. Each theme is described and then followed by partici-
pants’ recommendations for change.

“You Know You Can’t Call”: Fear of and Resistance to Utilizing the
Criminal Legal System
Participants described the significant risks for trans survivors in interacting with law
enforcement as a key deterrent shaping the low utilization of services by trans survi-
vors. Past encounters with hostile and negligent policing and mistreatment within the
criminal legal system reproduce conditions in which many trans survivors not only fail
to report being victimized but may strategically avoid public services altogether as a
matter of personal safety. As M.A. explained,

We’re not accessing the resources to get the help because of the fear of us going in there
with our identity and how we’re treated. You were sexually assaulted, why would you
want to go to the ER when you know that’s going to be another triggering situation? So,
Jordan et al. 539

what are you going to do? You’re going to heal at home and leave it alone. You know you
can’t call the police in your neighborhood because they’re not going to do anything or
make it worse. [. . .] It’s like you become accustomed to leaving things alone. (M.A., trans
woman of color, African American, Northeast)

The question of whether engaging with services might “make it worse” for trans
survivors was ubiquitously described by participants, and they emphasized the par-
ticular vulnerabilities of involving law enforcement when working with trans people
of color. In the context of describing her work with survivors who are undocumented
immigrants and/or involved with the sex trade, E.K. described the interplay between
heightened vulnerabilities to interpersonal violence and the potential perils of engag-
ing law enforcement:

A lot of the clients who have been victims are individuals who have to access the street
economy, were out late at night, and who have barriers to accessing employment—either
legal immigration status or language barriers. And so, those communities tend to have a
lot of fear about connecting with law enforcement, and rightly so. (E.K., trans/female,
Mexican, West Coast)

Trans survivors may not only fear being mistreated as a victim but be unwilling to
activate or participate in a criminal investigation that could put the person who caused
them harm in danger of arrest or incarceration. Advocates explained this reluctance as
rooted in survivors’ own negative experiences with law enforcement as well as percep-
tions of law enforcement as a source of harm and marginalization for trans people and
communities of color—and especially for trans people of color. R.B. recalled provid-
ing advocacy for survivors as they weighed this dilemma in the context of ongoing
threats of violence:

People in my community do reach out to be, like, “Hey, I’ve had this situation. I feel
unsafe. And I just need this person not to come to my job. And I can’t call the police.
[. . .] I don’t want the system to eat up another brown trans person.” (R.B., transmasculine,
black Latinx, Northeast)

The combination of fear of and resistance to utilizing criminal legal responses was
perceived to be a barrier to trans inclusion in mainstream DV/SA advocacy services.
Some participants described their own efforts to advocate within the criminal legal
system, including assisting trans survivors in filing police reports, offering court
accompaniment, and providing training to law enforcement personnel on working
with trans people. A few felt that their efforts had resulted in measurable improve-
ments with specific officers and local precincts; however, all advocates maintained a
general skepticism that nondiscrimination policies would sufficiently address the
social and structural forces that maintain bias in policing and the resulting tendency
for trans survivors to be interrogated and criminalized rather than viewed and treated
as victims. Many participants underscored an unmet need for DV/SA advocacy orga-
nizations to cultivate viable and innovative intervention strategies outside the criminal
540 Violence Against Women 26(6-7)

legal system, with a few participants pointing to the national organization INCITE!
Women, Gender Non-Conforming, and Trans People of Color Against Violence as for-
mative in their political analysis. Advocates who were currently working in LGBTQ-
specific anti-violence organizations reported feeling better trained and equipped than
those working in mainstream programs to offer such alternative strategies, and many
described such work as an imperative for LGBTQ survivor-centered advocacy.

“They Are Trans-Exclusionary”: Exclusions Persist Within Gender-Based

Services
Most advocates could readily identify DV/SA advocacy organizations in their region
that explicitly excluded trans survivors despite the new provisions under VAWA (and,
in many cases, state or municipal nondiscrimination laws). In fact, denials of services
and discrimination in shelters remained so common that advocates often relied on a
single organization in their city, if any, that they knew would be willing to serve
openly trans survivors. M.A. remarked that the influence of protective policies was
too often overstated given the ways in which discrimination remains broadly socially
sanctioned:

People think everything has changed and it’s fine. No, I tell people all the time. [. . .]
People don’t care about your policies. People will fire you for being trans, they won’t
want to serve you in restaurants. . . . It’s just, they don’t care.

Discrimination was described in terms of explicit exclusions and discriminatory

impacts, and primarily in the context of gender-based service models. For example,
M.H. described how the largest DV shelter and advocacy organization in her city, a
large metropolitan area in the South, maintained an explicit “trans-exclusionary” pol-
icy that they “will not work with trans women.” Although this organization did not
receive federal funding, D.T. observed similar exclusions within the federally funded
organizations in his state, even after organizations were provided with compliance
training. He explained,

Some are doing horrible things, some aren’t allowing trans people to come in. Or when
they do, they wave their flag really high, but then they say, “Well, that person wasn’t
wearing the clothes that they’re supposed to be wearing if they want to be blah, blah,
blah.” They’re doing the really strict policing and questioning identity [. . .] (D.T., trans/
male/genderqueer, white, Northeast)

Other advocates shared stories of providers using subjective assessments to gate-

keep services based on perceptions of a trans survivor’s gender presentation, a pattern
that has been described in more depth in previous studies (e.g., Goldberg & White,
2011; Mottet & Ohle, 2006; Pyne, 2011). Furthermore, as one advocate explained, for
trans people who do gain admittance, their inclusion is often predicated on a tacit
agreement to not discuss their experiences as a trans person.
Jordan et al. 541

Gender-specific program models may continue to reproduce barriers to services

even in organizations that intend to be inclusive. The popular use of gendered lan-
guage and imagery (e.g., in agency materials, websites, shelter space) can reinforce
perceptions that such resources are reserved for cisgender (not transgender) women. In
the absence of explicit language or clues that trans people will be welcomed, survivors
may anticipate additional scrutiny, judgment, or rejection and opt to bypass them
entirely. As L.Z. explained,

[E]ven our name was a barrier. People wouldn’t call us. Even if someone is trans and
identifies as a woman, they still wouldn’t call us out of the concern that we named
ourselves specifically because we would want to serve cis women only. (L.Z., genderqueer,
white, West Coast)

A 2014 Department of Justice advisement for VAWA grantees indicates that “sex-
segregated and sex-specific” services remain compatible with the nondiscrimination
provisions in VAWA 2013 when access is based on gender identity (rather than sex
assigned at birth) and when it is deemed necessary to the “essential operations of the
program” (p. 7). It further specifies that comparable services must be provided to those
who cannot be served in these models. In the cities where participants lived and
worked, most DV organizations were perceived to be maintaining gender-based pro-
gram models, either explicitly or implicitly. Our interviews suggest that in gender-
based services, efforts and tensions related to trans inclusion have focused primarily
on trans women who seek out these services. Advocates cautioned how debates about
inclusion in women’s services can solidify a perception of trans women as a discrete
group of outsiders attempting to gain access, rather than acknowledge trans women as
members of the communities that the organization already serves. In addition, as one
advocate offered, trans men and other trans people who do not identify as women are
often left with few to no options as both the gender-specific service models designed
for women and the comparable services offered to (cisgender) men may feel unsafe or
irrelevant to their specific needs and experiences.

“They Want a Checklist”: The Limits of Compliance and Competency

Approaches to Inclusion
Taken together, participants championed efforts within the DV/SA advocacy field to
address the historic exclusions of trans people—changes they described as predating
VAWA 2013 and accelerating afterward. D.T. perceived the obligation under VAWA
2013 to be a “strong motivator” for changes in DV/SA programs. Yet, he and others
relayed how efforts that are primarily driven by concerns about legal compliance were
often lackluster and observed most organizations to be “putting in very little effort” to
move policy into meaningful practice.
Some advocates tied the ongoing discrimination in services to a lack of basic
awareness and familiarity with trans survivors and their advocacy needs. Yet, this
assessment was undermined at times as participants narrated their own efforts to
542 Violence Against Women 26(6-7)

provide training and targeted advocacy to increase access to services that did not result
in material change. M.H. described consulting with a local DV organization over a
3-year period:

They did invite me to give presentations [. . .] and they both went over really well. But
that didn’t move them any further along. They’re still trans-exclusionary. [. . .] My guess
is what happened is they’d gone out and started feeling out their funders to see what the
reaction would be, they got negative responses, so they didn’t want to touch the topic.

Most advocates had provided professional development training as part of their

paid or volunteer work and illustrated how the focus on changing individual-level
attitudes often underestimated the kinds of organizational investments necessary to
overcome historical exclusions and provide meaningful resources to trans people. D.T.
exemplified this tension in his work providing compliance training related to the new
provisions in VAWA 2013:

It’s more “give me the list of things that I can do to make this better,” but not really going
at it wanting to do an analysis. They want a checklist of how to be better. But in that, I
feel like they start boxing in. They do all the stuff that is—you know, the micro-aggression
stuff. I don’t think it’s gotten to a point where they would even understand what trans
justice necessarily means.

Others also typified the limitations of a “checklist” approach by describing how

even the most basic forms of inclusion (such as using a survivor’s correct name and
pronoun) can require a fundamental shift in deeply held ideologies about gender as
well as organization-wide changes in service delivery systems and administration. A
“checklist” or competency-based approach can further miscalculate the ways in which
multiple forms of oppression may intersect and shape service models and organiza-
tional cultures at all levels. Behind newly open doors, advocates described myriad
challenges with inconsistent treatment, stereotypes, poor quality advocacy, isolation
from other residents or program participants, and program design elements with nega-
tive impacts for trans survivors. R.B. provided advocacy for a young black trans
woman living in a local women’s shelter who was treated poorly by staff and other
residents, required to obtain permission to attend an outside trans-specific support
group, and was characterized as “crazy” or “violent” for behavior that might otherwise
be considered a normative response to experiencing significant traumas. E.K. pointed
to the political geographies of emergency shelters in her city as located in places that
she described as “dangerous for trans people, and especially for those individuals who
either are trying to get away from the street economy or have been traumatized by it.”
Conversely, S.W. reflected on how restrictive shelter curfews and staff surveillance
can create additional barriers for people who engage in sex work or other late-night
economies (e.g., cultural performance) and how these may be the most viable sources
of immediate income for trans survivors.
Jordan et al. 543

The policy language of nondiscrimination can endorse beliefs that an equal oppor-
tunity ethos (e.g., “we treat everyone the same”) is not only compliant but also the best
approach for providing inclusive services. S.W. described how strategies of inclusion
that do not engage in an evaluation of current infrastructure or service models can
result in the status quo:

They say, “Yeah, we’re inclusive people. Yeah, of course.” You know? “We take trans
people.” But they don’t address the instances of transphobia that are happening and may
themselves perpetuate it. So, I think it just makes it hard for trans people to stay in
services. It’s because of how they’re being treated, and it just sort of continues. (S.W.,
transgender man, multi-racial/multi-ethnic, Northeast)

Several advocates described local programs that were genuinely interested in serv-
ing trans survivors but did not receive inquiries. U.T. reflected that despite the positive
intentions of many providers in his city in the Northwest, trans inclusion was largely
“theoretical” because programs that were technically open to providing services for
trans survivors had not served survivors who were openly trans or taken steps to
engage with trans communities and understand local needs. Several advocates spoke
to their own caution in making the first referral of a trans survivor to shelters or other
mainstream services that may have an open-door policy but have done little to assess
their services. A few described how one “bad referral” could erode trust and rapport
with an individual survivor and reverberate within interconnected social networks.

“All the Abuse That We Suffer”: Advocacy Practices Focus on a Single

Source of Violence
In considering what might be specific about domestic and sexual violence in the lives
of trans survivors, and therefore particular to advocacy needs, participants described
multilayered forms of social and economic exclusions and disenfranchisement. They
variously tied the heightened vulnerabilities to domestic and sexual violence to rejec-
tion by families and communities of origin, social isolation, discrimination in labor
markets, sexual objectification and street harassment, reliance on sex work economies,
patterns of incarceration, mental health symptoms, and barriers to receiving adequate
health care and social services. Advocates viewed the dominant analysis of gender-
based violence as largely insufficient for understanding the complex root causes of
violence, and particularly for those who are multiply-marginalized due to racism, pov-
erty, immigration status, and disability. S.W. described how their own understanding
of violence shifted after working with LGBTQ survivors:

I myself had the belief that domestic violence is only about men’s violence against
women until I went to work at [an LGBTQ-specific organization]. Our organization’s
analysis [. . .] is basically that domestic violence is a microcosm of the larger forms of
oppression. It’s the interpersonal version of it. So, it’s about racism, sexism, homophobia,
transphobia, sizeism, anti-Semitism. It’s about all of those things.
544 Violence Against Women 26(6-7)

As participants described it, advocacy approaches that emphasize gender-based

analysis may misjudge the nexus of interpersonal violence, stigma, and social, cul-
tural, political, and economic exclusions. H.G., who had worked in an organization
providing services to primarily low-income trans people of color, explained how struc-
tural conditions significantly shaped advocacy challenges related to IPV:

I know for a lot of community members and clients that having stability or having their
basic needs met seemed to only come through one person, who may have been a partner.
So, like coming out of prison and going back to that person because they knew they
would have housing. Or, they couldn’t get a job, but they knew they could have food that
night. That seemed to be a factor for some people or seemed like an only option for some
people. Even if it meant that the relationship was not serving them well. (H.G., trans or
FTM, black/African American, Northeast)

Advocates variously referred to “interlocking oppressions” or “systems of oppres-

sion” as crucial to understanding violence against trans people and approaches to
advocacy. Yet, as advocates found the single axis of gender insufficient in accounting
for trans people’s vulnerabilities to violence, they simultaneously stressed the need to
better operationalize a framework that incorporates violence experienced by trans
people as also rooted in gender-based oppression. To this end, several advocates
described the ways in which conventional gender stereotypes and social scripts may be
adopted by trans people for a variety of reasons, including personal safety, economic
opportunities, and simply “being validated for who you are.” Some advocates linked
this to mainstream media portrayals that sensationalize narratives of gender transition
as a process of aspiring to stereotypical gender roles and for rarely depicting a diver-
sity of trans people in authentic and positive intimate relationships. For N.N., gender
frameworks that were adopted among the mostly migrant heterosexual trans women
she worked with at times naturalized partner violence as an essential part of
womanhood:

People are telling me [. . .] “Having a partner, having a boyfriend, having a husband is

part of what means being a woman, and that comes with a price. [. . .] I have a boyfriend,
because I’m a woman now, and I have to deal with the abuse. I have to deal with being
mistreated because that’s part of being who I am.” (N.N., transgender woman, Latino,
West Coast)

As advocates described it, an understanding of how gender oppression is function-

ing in the lives and relationships of trans survivors may require an additional set of
tools. For example, unlike some survivors who report being criticized or abandoned by
family or friends for staying with a partner who is threatening or causing them harm,
advocates observed that trans survivors (of all genders) tend to receive messages that
they are lucky to have a partner at all. Participants further emphasized how survivor
responses to domestic or sexual violence occur within a broader context in which
exposures to violence accumulate over the life span. Indeed, participants described
their own experiences with IPV as a “retriggering” event to earlier forms of childhood
Jordan et al. 545

abuse, “just another check” on a list of “all the abuse that we suffer in our lives,” and
as continuous with daily threats in which “to go from point A to point B [. . .] requires
a safety plan.”
Conventional strategies intended to empower survivors in reestablishing safety and
self-determination following a violent incident or in the context of an abusive relation-
ship can miscomprehend these lived realities. U.T. drew links to why “typical conver-
sations about power and control” may often be incompatible to trans experiences:

If someone is experiencing a systemic lack of love and care, and one of the only people
that loves and cares for them is also abusive—I don’t often see that included in the
narrative. I find that a lot of my co-workers have a hard time understanding the level and
type of isolation and when your being is questioned and devalued constantly. (U.T., trans
and genderqueer, white, West Coast)

While trans survivors may seek out and benefit from existing resources, advocates felt
that theories of violence underpinning typical service models often failed to capture
the nature and sources of violence in the lives of trans people and were insufficient for
preventing future harm. Instead, participants spoke to an unmet need for trauma-
informed strategies that explicitly recognize transphobia as constitutive of patriarchal
violence, counteract the internalized messages trans people receive about self-worth or
“unloveability,” and address trans people’s experiences of domestic and sexual vio-
lence within a “larger picture” of the social and structural conditions in which they are
situated.

Not “Our Work”: The Diversion to and Overburdening of LGBTQ

Programs
Many participants observed that local leaders in the mainstream DV/SA advocacy
field were disinclined or unwilling to act publicly to support trans survivors, and spe-
cifically to speak out in response to the reports of homicides of trans women of color.
Advocates variously speculated that organizational leaders may interpret violence
against trans people as unrelated to their mission, happening outside the communities
that they serve, or better addressed by trans- or LGBTQ-specific organizations. As
U.T. suggested,

I think there’s this thing as seeing it as separate. They’re aware that trans women
specifically, and trans people face rates of violence that are higher, but they’re not
connecting that with, “that’s our work as DV agencies.”

Some connected the lack of recognition of trans survivors to the limited media
representations of trans people’s authentic lives and relationships. M.A. further linked
media and advocacy narratives that frame violence against trans people as “hate
crimes” to broader misunderstandings about the nature of violence against trans
people. In speaking about the mainstream media, M.A. explained,
546 Violence Against Women 26(6-7)

If you talk about IPV, that humanizes us. It makes it seem like trans people can be loved,
and they don’t want that. It’s easier for them to just deem it a homicide and a “hate
crime,” than to think that this person had someone that loved them. Or, they were dealing
with somebody that they were in an intimate relationship with. Or, that it was more
than—“Oh, I found out that you were a man, and I killed them.” [. . .] You have to dig
deeper into that and actually investigate. [. . .] They’re too in their transphobia to actually
want to do that.

Advocates perceived that local leaders in DV/SA advocacy organizations were

aware of the high rates of violence against trans people, but resistant to engage with
trans communities. Some reflected on the powerful influence of gender ideologies that
negate the existence of trans people and experiences, both in certain strands of femi-
nist theory and in faith-based organizations. Many more linked the inaction of leader-
ship to political risk aversion in service-based nonprofits, an overemphasis on
individualizing services, and a near constant state of operating with scarce resources.
For these and other reasons, participants observed a broad and consistent pattern in
which advocacy for trans survivors is viewed as the primary domain of trans- and
LGBTQ-specific organizations or programs. Among those who worked in LGBTQ-
specific organizations, all expressed frustration in receiving referrals from more well-
resourced agencies to work with trans survivors, particularly those who needed
services that their programs did not have the resources to provide, such as shelter and
legal support. As S.W. explained,

I think some organizations really believe that this should be specific to only cisgender
women, you know? [. . .] And so, it feels sometimes like this is a–I don’t want to say
burdensome—but it feels like sometimes a lot falls on our organization. Because the
other organizations may think, “Oh, they work with that community, so let’s just send
them there,” instead of thinking, “We can also help these folks.”

One participant described being the sole part-time employee in the only dedicated
LGBTQ-specific advocacy program in a large county that handled regular referrals
from 14 mainstream programs. He and other participants highlighted how the pattern
of referral to LGBTQ-specific programs without the survivor’s consent raised con-
cerns about privacy and confidentiality in small and often well-connected communi-
ties. Some further noted that for trans people in heterosexual relationships, LGBTQ
programs designed primarily to serve those in gay and lesbian relationships or com-
munities may not feel relevant or appropriate. Most commented on how the limited
dedicated resources for trans survivors were concentrated in LGBTQ-specific settings
and in large urban cities. Advocates working in LGBTQ organizations described how
the pattern of referrals to less resourced organizations can reproduce unequal benefits
for trans survivors and create silos of social and political responsibility for addressing
violence against trans people.
All participants maintained that hiring trans people to work as advocates is indis-
pensable to providing relevant services. E.K. described her organization’s decision to
Jordan et al. 547

employ multiple bilingual trans women as “really, really vital to our clients feeling
comfortable, and then referring others,” as well as ensuring a welcoming workplace
culture for her and her colleagues. Yet, several participants registered frustrations of
being dismissed by colleagues when they raised issues related to trans survivors and
simultaneously feeling “tokenized” as a primary spokesperson or liaison for trans
communities. Some further remarked on racialized and gendered stratification of the
workforce, specifically describing the inequitable compensation of those in direct ser-
vice positions, which trans people of color were most likely to be hired to fill.

Recommendations for the Field

Advocates in this study were asked about whether and how the community-based DV/
SA advocacy field may better join efforts to address domestic and sexual violence in
the lives of trans people. Their recommendations (presented in Table 2) focused on the
structural and political dimensions of trans inclusion work. They included (a) increas-
ing the representation and leadership of trans people working in and with DV/SA
organizing, (b) integrating trans justice values into survivor-centered advocacy, and
(c) investing in prevention and cultural change strategies that aim to shift the social
status of trans people. Although many participants had worked as trainers and consul-
tants to DV/SA advocacy programs to increase competency in working with trans
people, this was notably absent when participants recommended steps for necessary
change. Advocates focused instead on a need for program evaluation, new approaches
to advocacy, and political education and cultural work that can expand and deepen the
operating analysis of gender-based violence. Some aspired to expand their own
approaches to preventing and responding to domestic and sexual violence in the lives
of trans people. There was a general agreement to redirect resources from the criminal
legal system toward the development of alternative violence prevention and interven-
tion strategies, as well as an emphasis on resources to meet material needs such as
housing security, health care access, and a living wage.

Discussion
More than 2.5 years after the enactment of the 2013 VAWA, trans anti-violence advo-
cates indicated that community-based DV/SA advocacy services were inconsistent,
often irrelevant, and sometimes actively hostile and dangerous for trans survivors.
Despite formal inclusion under the law, exclusions have persisted because patterns of
discrimination are resistant to change, socially tolerated, and state-sanctioned by a
lack of federal enforcement and by ambiguities in guidance for grantees (e.g., U.S.
Department of Justice, Office of Justice Programs, Office for Civil Rights, 2014).
Following Spade’s (2013) call for a “critical trans politics” in evaluating claims of
inclusion, our findings yield important evidence about how legal protections may
serve to mask ongoing material inequities if not accompanied with broader redistribu-
tive changes.
548 Violence Against Women 26(6-7)

Table 2.  Participant Recommendations for the Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault
Advocacy Field.

Theme Example recommendations

Increase the voice, representation,
and leadership of trans people
working in the fields of DV/SA
advocacy
Integrate trans justice values into
survivor-centered advocacy
Invest in prevention and cultural
change strategies that improve the
social status of trans people
1. B uild meaningful relationships with trans-led
organizations and groups at the local level.
2. E thically hire and train trans people as advocates,
particularly trans people of color.
3. B uild a leadership pipeline within the field that can
advance trans advocates to leadership positions
and diversify job responsibilities.
4. M ove to “survivor-centered” frameworks when
describing those affected.
5. S upport and invest in peer-to-peer anti-violence
and advocacy models developed by and for trans
people and communities.
6. S upport, invest in, and practice alternative models
of accountability outside the criminal legal system.
7. A dvocate for and disseminate positive and
diverse representations of trans people and their
relationships.
8. D esign and engage in creative prevention and
cultural change initiatives that positively represent
trans people and reach people where they spend
their time (e.g., centers of faith, community
centers, schools, online).

Note. DV/SA = domestic violence and sexual assault.

This study not only confirms the limits of nondiscrimination policies to overcome
historical exclusions from DV/SA advocacy services but also articulates some of the
specific logics and practices of exclusion that may appear neutral or even inclusive.
Trans survivors of domestic and sexual violence, and particularly those at the intersec-
tions of multiple forms of oppression, often require forms of support and resources
that are not currently conceptualized or readily available in existing services and mod-
els. Operating theories of violence and advocacy strategies often misalign with the
experiences and needs of trans survivors, even when individual providers or organiza-
tions are generally respectful of trans individuals. Open-door policies and an equal
access ethos without further restructuring services may actually contribute to condi-
tions that are less safe for trans people, including the devaluing of trans experience,
hostile shelter and program settings, unwanted interactions with law enforcement, and
advocacy practices that fail to identify potential sources of harm. The perceived orga-
nizational costs of more meaningful forms of inclusion are buttressed by a scarcity of
public resources and a tenuous political climate for advocating for trans people.
Yet, this study also indicates that the nondiscrimination provisions in VAWA
2013 have served a symbolic and regulatory function in encouraging some organiza-
tions to train staff and provide more inclusive services. Social movements for trans
Jordan et al. 549

justice and increased media visibility of trans people have simultaneously brought
attention to the exclusionary practices embedded in existing DV/SA service models.
Although not fully described in this study, it is clear that some programs have taken
action to provide meaningful resources to trans survivors, including those that were
committed to these practices before VAWA 2013. Our findings support and extend
calls of trans scholars and activists for anti-violence work to move beyond a gender
binary (Yerke & DeFeo, 2016) and engage with transfeminist perspectives (Koyama,
2003; see Pyne, 2015; Stryker & Bettcher, 2016) that can help organizations over-
come anxieties that trans inclusion requires programs to abandon, rather than deepen,
a gender-based analysis of violence. Participants in this study point to the potential
for a trans justice philosophy that is coherent with the field’s commitments to survi-
vor-centered advocacy, including strategies that do not rely on the criminal legal
system and that emphasize prevention and cultural change efforts aimed at the root
causes of domestic and sexual violence. To this end, trans advocates recommended
increasing the voice and leadership of trans people in the field, particularly trans
people of color, to help identify and respond to the needs of the most vulnerable
trans survivors.

Limitations and Future Research

Although this study aimed to provide a national view of inequities facing trans survivors,
the interviews were mostly conducted with advocates living and working in large urban
and coastal areas. Additional research could provide a more comprehensive understand-
ing of the experiences of trans advocates and survivors who seek advocacy in rural and
suburban areas and cities perceived as more socially conservative or culturally homoge-
neous. A survey of DV/SA advocacy field leaders and programs could add important
perspectives regarding the mechanisms of inequity identified in the present study.
Further research is needed to more fully understand the advocacy needs of trans survi-
vors, particular across varied intersections of identity and experiences such as race, eth-
nicity, geography, gender expression and identity, age, incarceration status or history,
disability, and involvement in the sex trade. Although we did not fully analyze them
here, we optimistically turn to the forms of community care and alternative responses to
violence that were practiced by some of the advocates we interviewed in this study and
their broader communities. Future research and intervention development should con-
sider these forms of community-generated survivor-centered advocacy as potential
directions while drawing on the strengths of existing knowledge of survivor-centered
advocacy, empowerment, and self-determination within feminist and LGBTQ anti-vio-
lence work.

Conclusion
This study yields a greater understanding of the limited influence of nondiscrimina-
tion policies in securing access to material resources for trans people by consider-
ing the practice-based implications of changes following the addition of
550 Violence Against Women 26(6-7)

nondiscrimination protections in VAWA 2013. Lessons from VAWA 2013 may be

particularly useful in light of the recent retractions from federal protections for
transgender rights and anticipated partisanship in the next reauthorization. Our
study suggests that federal nondiscrimination policies may serve as a symbolic
catalyst for dialogue and change within community-based services settings but
have a limited impact on organizational practices when not combined with a com-
mitment to social change. Not only do trans survivors continue to lack access to fair
and relevant DV/SA advocacy services funded under VAWA, but the safety of those
most vulnerable remains undermined by the investments in criminal legal infra-
structure. It is a particularly urgent time to consider the advocacy needs of trans
survivors as the social and political climate increases exposure to violence and
discrimination alongside funding cuts that most detrimentally affect minoritized
groups. Trans advocates in this study challenged those in the DV/SA field to move
beyond offering access to existing models and toward meaningful collaborations
with intersectional movements for trans justice.

Acknowledgments
We are grateful to the participants who generously gave their time and expertise to this study as
well as to the two anonymous reviewers for their helpful feedback.

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship,
and/or publication of this article.

Funding
The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship,
and/or publication of this article: This research was supported in part by the Northwest Network
of Bi, Trans, Lesbian, and Gay Survivors of Abuse.

Notes
1. An advisory document published by the U.S. Department of Justice states that “male,
female, and transgender are all examples of gender identities for purposes of the nondis-
crimination grant condition.”
2. Following Enke, we use the term trans as a social category that incorporates “the broadest
possible range of gender nonconformity for the purposes of movement building, organiz-
ing, and social service recognition” (p. 18). This includes people who self-identify with the
term trans and others who experience exclusion or discrimination based on their gender
identity or expression.
3. We use the term survivor to refer to persons who have experienced the forms of violence
defined in the Violence Against Women Reauthorization Act, including domestic violence,
dating violence, sexual assault, and stalking.
4. The term “cisgender” and “cis” are used throughout to denote a social position of those
who are not transgender.
Jordan et al. 551

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554 Violence Against Women 26(6-7)

Author Biographies
Sid P. Jordan has worked for two decades with community-based anti-violence, youth-
centered, LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer), and trans justice organiza-
tions. He is currently a PhD student at the University of California, Los Angeles in the
Department of Social Welfare, where his research interests include the intersections of violence,
health, and inequity and the utilization of participatory methodologies.
Gita R. Mehrotra is an assistant professor in the School of Social Work at Portland State
University. Prior to entering academia, she worked in the field of domestic violence for over a
decade in a variety of capacities with a focus on Asian and South Asian women and LGBTQ
communities of color. Her current research and teaching interests include LGBTQ people of
color identities and wellness, social justice and racial equity within social work education,
domestic violence in minoritized communities, and critical and feminist theories and method-
ologies for social work.
Kiyomi A. Fujikawa has been involved with movements to end gender-based violence since
2001. Her political home is with queer and trans communities of color and organizing around
preventing and responding to intimate partner violence, which she most recently did with the
Queer Network Program at API Chaya.