Phillipe Cunningham shakes a lot of hands. A former community organizer now running for Minneapolis City Council, Cunningham goes door-to-door talking to voters in the 4th Ward. At each house he visits, the 30-year-old hopes to leave constituents with a core message about his campaign: he is a “next-generation progressive leader who can build bridges across difference, knows how to do the job, and can empower the community.” Cunningham worked as an adviser to Mayor Betsy Hodges for two years, the youngest staffer in the mayor’s office. He’s also transgender.

Phillipe Cunningham cunninghammpls.org

“I talk about it at the door with folks because I want people to know that this is what trans excellence looks like,” Cunningham told me. “When I come out as a black, queer trans candidate who is qualified for the job, people are excited about the possibility of representation. I’m no token.”

Three years after Laverne Cox graced the cover of Time magazine, Cunningham is part of a transgender tipping point in U.S. culture. According to Logan Casey, Research Associate at the Harvard Opinion Research Program, a record number of trans people are running for public office this year. At least 29 transgender politicians have announced their candidacy and more are expected to throw their hat in the ring. This is a significant increase from 2016, when Casey estimates that there were between seven and nine candidates.



The representation is much needed. While last year saw Democrats Misty Snow and Misty Plowright become the first transgender politicians to claim major party nominations, it was also the deadliest year on record for LGBT people. And just nine months into 2017, at least 23 trans people have been killed, a majority of which were trans women of color. Just 17 states (and D.C.) have LGBT-inclusive hate crime laws to prosecute perpetrators of violence to the fullest letter of the law, but in 32 states, the victims could have been fired for being out at work as transgender.

Every transgender candidate interviewed for this article, two of whom are people of color, said the recent backlash against LGBTQ rights—brought on in large part by the election of Donald Trump and the “bathroom bills” in North Carolina and Texas—pushed them into the political arena. At a time when transgender people face unprecedented opposition from their state legislatures and the White House, they had no choice but to do something about it.

Kristen Browde with her Democratic running mates Gail Markels (L) and Ivy Pool (R) in front of New Castle Town Hall. strongernewcastle.org

Kristen Browde, who lives in Newcastle, New York, saw the anti-LGBTQ backlash up close while campaigning for Hillary Clinton in North Carolina—the last place a 66-year-old transgender woman would want to be in 2016. Tensions were high over the recently passed House Bill 2 (HB-2).



After Clinton lost, local Democratic leadership in Newcastle asked Browde if she would consider running for town supervisor. She had never considered running for office until she was approached. She’s a licensed attorney who once worked as a correspondent for CBS News. She wasn’t even registered with a political party. But Browde knew that nothing would change until trans people were in the room to help make policy decisions that directly affect the lives and safety of trans people.

“I guarantee you that the people who passed the laws in North Carolina have never met a trans person,” Browde said. “When they take a look at the people who are running for office right now, they’re going to see lawyers, accountants, and people from all walks of life. They’re going to see people that look just like them.”

This lack and fear of diversity, in large part, is what’s made the history of transgender people in the U.S. political arena so complicated and painful. Massachusetts state representative Elaine Noble was the first openly LGBTQ person elected to public office back in 1974, but gains for the trans community did not quickly follow.

State Rep. Elaine Noble smiles after addressing the crowd at the Gay Rights Rally on Boston Common in 1977. Getty Images

In 1993, when a Colorado newspaper learned that Arvada city councilwoman Joanne Conte was transgender, the publication threatened to out her. This forced her out of the closet at a time when trans people were extremely stigmatized. When Michelle Bruce, formerly a member of the Riverdale City Council in Georgia, ran for reelection after coming out as transgender in 2007, her opponent sued her. He claimed that not by disclosing her trans identity during her campaign four years earlier, it constituted a form of election fraud. Although the lawsuit was unsuccessful, it left her career in shambles.

New Hampshire’s Stacie Laughton, who won a seat in the House of Representatives in 2012, remains the only trans legislator who was out at the time of her election.

Mara Keisling, the Executive Director of the National Center for Transgender Equality, said that if trans candidates are stepping up to change things, they don’t have a choice but to get involved.

“The truth is that in the United States, transgender people are under attack worse than we’ve ever been before,” said Keisling. “Prior to President Obama, we were just ignored. We never had the attorney general rolling back our rights and making life more difficult for LGBTQ youth. It’s kind of scary. A lot of folks are trying to figure out how they can be part of a productive reaction to that.”

While Donald Trump campaigned as a “friend” to the LGBTQ community, his administration is anything but friendly to trans citizens. Many of his cabinet appointees and close advisers have a long history of anti-gay rhetoric. Ben Carson, the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, has referred to transgender people as the “height of absurdity.” Vice President Mike Pence signed a law as the governor of Indiana that allowed businesses to discriminate against queer and trans customers. Betsy DeVos, the Secretary of Education, and her family foundations have donated millions to anti-LGBTQ causes.

Shortly after Trump’s January inauguration, the Departments of Justice and Education revoked 2016 guidance from the Obama administration that allowed trans students to be treated in a manner consistent with their gender identity in school. Most recently, the president signed a directive banning transgender people from serving openly in the military.

“There’s so many horrible things going on right now, and trans people have to stand up and fight back,” said Danielle Pellett, a Texas Democrat running for the House of Representatives. “We’ve come to realize that visibility is the best way we can do that.”

Being visible, though, hasn’t always been easy.

Mel Wymore on the steps of New York City Hall. Getty Images

Mel Wymore, who is running for District 6 of the New York City Council, was used to being the “unicorn in the room” when he first started transitioning nine years ago. Wymore served as a member of Manhattan Community Board 7 during his transition. “It was like people were saying, We love you, but you’re not quite the same as us. Last year, just 30 percent of Americans said they knew a trans person, according to the Pew Research Forum—the numbers were presumably far lower when Wymore transitioned. His friends and neighbors were accepting, but “there was always this slight feeling of being different,” he said.

He says that regardless of the outcome of this year's elections, trans candidates still have a major impact on their cities. “People’s notions of otherness start to diminish.” People have the opportunity to “connect to each other as human beings,” Wymore added.

Voters will have a great many chances to connect with trans candidates this year.

Jacey Wyatt, a businesswoman and former model, will be the first transgender woman to run for governor of Connecticut. Brianna Westbrook, who is campaigning for Arizona’s 8th Congressional District, is the first trans person in the state to mount a bid for office in 13 years. And Danica Roem, a former journalist, became the first transgender candidate to win a primary race in June, when she became the Democratic nominee for District 13 in Virginia’s House of Delegates.

Minneapolis has two transgender candidates running for city council: In addition to Cunningham, Andrea Jenkins, a trans historian who works for the University of Minnesota, hopes to represent Ward 8. She is currently running unopposed.

Andrea Jenkins Jason Bucklin/andreajenkinsforward8.org

“The biggest challenge has been convincing people that I am not a single-issue candidate,” said Jenkins. “People want to know if I’m going to be able to speak on behalf of a homeowner with two kids and a wife.”

If elected, Jenkins would represent a diverse community with disparate needs. The 8th ward is “bifurcated” by a freeway. On one side, voters are largely white, wealthy, young urban professionals and progressive families. The other side of the freeway is home to low-income workers, people of color, and immigrants. Unemployment in Minneapolis is four-times higher for non-white residents.

The 56-year-old community organizer has three decades of experience addressing issues for both populations. Jenkins served as an aide to two city council members for 12 years, and before that, she worked as a vocational counselor for a decade. As a counselor, she helped families that were receiving public assistance get off welfare, get jobs, and find housing.

"My vision is broad ... I just happen to be a transgender candidate."

“My vision is broad,” Jenkins said. “I’m an experienced policy maker concerned about a broad range of issues beyond just the trans community. I just happen to be a transgender candidate.”

A lot has changed since Joanne Conte was forced out of politics 24 years ago. None of the candidates I spoke to said they had faced significant backlash because of their identity. Browde claimed that a Trump supporter once called her a “he-she piece of dirt” on Facebook, but the comment was immediately flagged and removed. Pellett said the rising tide of anti-LGBT discrimination hasn’t been reflected in her campaign either. She’s gotten “more hate for being a liberal” than she has for begin trans.



But getting there, deciding to run for office, has often amounted to a second coming out, filled with fear and anxiety for trans candidates. But taking that leap, Browde said, seems scarier than it is. After Browde came out to her two sons, then 11 and 15, her children felt anxiety over her transition. What if other students at school noticed when Browde came to pick her kids up? What if her children got bullied? But it was a non-issue.

“If you can survive that first parent-teacher conference, you can survive politics,” she said.

For trans individuals eyeing a future in politics, overcoming these fears to run for office has never been more important. And, of course, getting elected won’t fix every problem the trans community faces. But for a population desperately in need of optimism, it’s a start.

“I believe that representation matters,” Jenkins said. “We need to see transgender people in leadership roles. I want to give hope to my community as a black trans woman and be a part of the resistance. As grandiose as it sounds, we are fighting for our democracy. We are fighting for our lives.”