Earlier this summer, I announced the launch of the Bernadine Casseus Transgender Laureate program. Named after my lovable trans auntie, this program celebrates trans individuals who lead with grace and strive to make a difference in their communities. And after receiving and reviewing 30 fabulous applications, I'm proud to announce that Philadelphia's own Naiymah Sanchez has been named as the inaugural Trans Laureate.In this conversation, Naiymah revisits the moment discrimination pushed her into advocacy, the urgent threats facing Black and Brown trans women, and the spiritual grounding that keeps her going.Marie-Adlina de la Ferrire: Congrats, Naiymah! One of the things that stood out to me the most is how you've constantly used your voice not only to speak, but to shake tables. What first lit that fire in you to stand up for our community?Naiymah Sanchez: Honestly, it's hard to pinpoint a single moment because, for as long as I can remember, I've always resisted any attempt to deny me the right to be myself. But there was a turning point when I realized I couldn't just advocate for myself; I had to speak up for others who were facing the same inequities in silence, often forced to accept bigotry hidden behind outdated state laws.I was terminated from a job I had held for three years because I checked "female" instead of "male" on my application after sharing my identity more openly. I was told I had misrepresented myself, even though my state-issued ID reflected my truth. That experience taught me firsthand how at-will employment laws and outdated non-discrimination laws could be weaponized.I knew this was targeted discrimination because of my gender identity. That moment solidified my commitment to making sure others would not have to endure the same. I joined efforts to modernize Pennsylvania's laws to clearly define protections based on gender identity, gender expression, and sexual orientation. Since then, my commitment to community liberation has expanded beyond policy work to include direct service and support because actual change requires both structural reform and care for the people living through it.Every trans story starts somewhere tender. Who or what gave you the courage to live out loud growing up? And how does that foundation still carry you through your work today?Now, I love the opportunity to share stories from my life, and the most tender moment was the first time someone saw me "dressed up": my grandmom, in a wedding gown.I was 11, and her reaction was priceless. I was scared, caught, and anticipated a whooping. But I was met with intentional love. She first said, "Go take that dress off and be careful", then she made me a turkey sandwich with Doritos chips and a cola. She invited me to sit down as she pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, saying, "You looked beautiful." Even though the harmful experiences that followed were encouraged by other family members, including conversion therapy and abuse. It was the experience of that moment with my granny that affirmed me in the first moment of "being seen" I take into my work today. That we must treat each other with care and understanding.You've been part of the Out100, now you're Transgender Laureate #1. What does this honor mean to you?Both opportunities are a reminder to me that my voice is being heard and my visibility is necessary, as we continue the essential work of liberating our people. When I learned about my induction to Out100 in 2023, I was shocked. Never did I imagine being recognized by a national outlet for my contributions through education and advocacy, and being 1 of 100 LGBTQ+ people working to advance our rights in America. Now, as the 2025 Trans Laureate, this is another opportunity as a possible model for other Black and Brown trans folx through a different lens.It's an honor to know my community trusts my leadership, and accepting it is my commitment to moving us forward.What does "Laureate" mean to you, especially in the context of trans life, survival, and the art of resilience?To me, it represents both honor and responsibility. Not just recognition of one's artistry or voice, but a call to carry our stories forward. Being the Trans Laureate means holding space for the beauty that comes from struggle and transformation. It's about turning pain into purpose, memory into movement, and visibility into liberation. A trans laureate reminds the world that trans people are not just surviving, we are creating, dreaming, and shaping culture in ways that expand what it means to be human.You've been doing the work for some time now. What changes have you seen in how our communities care for one another over the past decade?Over the past decade, I've seen our communities grow in our visibility and stronger in how we show up for one another. In Philly and beyond, mutual aid and community care have become more intentional, shifting from charity to focus on solidarity. We've learned that liberation work isn't just policy or protest; it's feeding each other, finding housing for those in need, and ensuring people feel seen and loved.At the same time, I've seen more collaboration across movements, recognizing that our struggles are connected. There's still a lot of healing to do internally and across identities. Still, our sense of collective care has deepened. We're learning to move from survival toward building systems of care that can sustain us all, returning us to the roots of organizing.Progress is real, but so are the roadblocks. What challenges still keep you up at night when it comes to safety, visibility, and opportunity for trans folks, especially Black and Brown trans women?For Black and Brown trans women and girls, visibility can still mean vulnerability to violence, discrimination, and systems that were never built to protect or support us or our entire community. The barriers to stable housing, affirming healthcare, and fair employment remain far too high. What worries me most is how policy and politics continue to strip away basic rights and acceptance, forcing so many of us to fight not just against the targeted attacks but to exist in our communities and neighborhoods. But even in that fear, I hold on to hope, because our communities have always turned pain into power, and that resilience continues to guide us forward.Advocacy can take a toll on the body as much as the mind and spirit. How do you fill your own cup?Wow, filling my own cup. To start, I'm very spiritual, and turning to my beliefs helps me ground myself. Outside of community movement efforts, I'm also a caregiver to two aging parents, so scheduling time for me has to be strategically planned. At the very least, I appreciate a long, hot bubble bath and a nice, slow jam mix from the early to mid-90s. On retreat, I love a waterfront bench, silence, a short fictional book, a glass of sparkling ros, and a smooth cigar, not altogether, but that would be great too.When I do have a chance to get away, I appreciate traveling to a beachfront location, turning my phone off, and taking a moment to celebrate myself, hugging trees, and connecting to nature. I do have a therapist to help me in moments in which I need professional support. I love the connections with my friends and my bio/chosen family, which allow me the privilege of feeling loved and of loving unconditionally.The Bernadine Casseus Transgender Laureateship is grounded in hope. So what gives you hope right now? And where do you see that guiding light coming from in our community?What gives me hope right now is us. The way our communities continue to show up for one another, even when the world feels heavy and politics are pitting us against each other. I see hope in the young people who are unapologetically themselves, in the organizers who continue to build through limited resources, and in the elders who remind us that we've been here before and still found ways to thrive. Our light comes from that shared commitment to care, creativity, and survival.It's the reminder that no matter how hard things get, we keep finding ways to love, to build, and to imagine something better together.If you could grab the mic and speak directly to the next generation of trans activists and artists, what would Auntie Naiymah say? And what would you tell your younger self in that audience, too?If I could grab the mic and speak to the next generation of trans agents of change and artists, I'd say, "Baby, don't rush your becoming. The world may try to make you prove your worth, but you remember your existence is already powerful. Lead with love, protect your joy, and remember that rest is part of the work."To my younger self sitting in that audience, I'd say: "Keep holding on, young person, you don't have to shrink or hide your truth to be safe. The very things you are told to hide will one day be your superpower. Keep dreaming, keep living, and keep creating. Trust that your voice will find its rightful place. When it does, open the door for others.Equalpride, the publisher of Out, is a proud media sponsor of the Bernadine Casseus Transgender Laureate program.