Transgender Coloradans celebrate, advocate for their visibility

Dalton is from Florida and protested the state’s "Don’t Say Gay" bill in 2022. Since moving to Colorado, she has mostly stayed out of politics but felt this bill was important.

“I heard a lot of testimony about people’s beliefs and ideologies,” Dalton said. “But the fact of the matter is this bill affects real people, like me, who are not just beliefs and ideologies.”

Z Williams, a lawyer with Bread and Roses Legal Center, surveyed 500 transgender Coloradans from around the state. Williams worked with Loving’s family to assess Loving’s wishes and combined that information with the survey results to write the bill alongside its Democratic legislative sponsors: Representatives Lorena Garcia and Rebekah Stewart, and Senators Faith Winter and Chris Kiolker, all of whom are based in the Denver metro area.

“We heard people talking about feeling unsafe to go to work because they were being harassed or bullied, people having issues in higher education and also throughout elementary schools,” Williams said. “We also heard from a lot of parents worried they could lose custody of their children and their children be extradited back somewhere unsafe.”

Schultz, who did not officially testify in support of the bill but said she supports any added protections for her community, draws inspiration from the activism and mutual aid efforts of past queer liberation movements — such as the AIDS crisis and the Stonewall Riots — seeing them as guiding lights in the fight for resilience and justice.

“Right now is about perseverance,” Schultz added. “It’s about leaning on each other and looking for the ways we can support each other through this.”

At 53, she has spent most of her life fighting for the transgender community’s right to exist.

Schultz came out as transgender in 1998, just two years after the FDA approved the first drugs to treat HIV and AIDS, slowing the epidemic that killed thousands of LGBTQ+ people in the 1980s and 1990s.

“We had an entire generation of thinkers, of activists, of artists and designers and all of these people who were pushing the margins of identity and experience and we lost them,” Schultz said. “There was this whole piece of having to recreate leadership within our community and figuring out who to turn to when we lost so many.”

Much of Schultz’s work in recent years has focused on supporting transgender people — especially youth — as they navigate growing hostility. In 2025 alone, lawmakers in 49 states introduced 821 anti-transgender bills.

President Donald Trump has also signed a series of executive orders restricting transgender rights and recognition, including a directive to the Secretary of State to prohibit changes to gender markers on federal documents.

“It's scary to see states trying to legislate us out of existence,” Schultz said.

Kip Davison, a transgender man and organizer, said he embraces the mantra “joy is an act of resistance,” a phrase coined by American poet Toi Derricotte. He underwent chest masculinization surgery — commonly known as top surgery — in November.

“It’s amazing to get to work out and build the body that feels like mine,” Davidson said. 

Davidson enjoys playing Dungeons & Dragons and crafting with friends, both of which provide an outlet for creativity and a welcome escape from the stresses of his activism. He also lifts weights and said he’s grown much stronger since starting testosterone therapy five years ago.

In his free time, Davidson leads protests and makes podcast appearances to talk about being transgender. He sees those things as duties to support his community, but said being so open about his identity in an “unaccepting” world can feel daunting.

“That can be really inspiring but it can also come with drawbacks because visibility comes at a cost,” Davidson said of his public advocacy. Davidson is patient with those who have good-faith questions about his transition, but has received hateful messages and invasive questions on occasion.

October Santarelli, who came out as transgender in 2007, said living so visibly as gender-nonconforming has brought unique challenges. Santarelli takes testosterone and sports a full beard, but also embraces femininity by wearing bows in their hair and sporting frilly shirts.

“I feel more comfortable and more ready to face the world being who I actually am,” Santatelli said. “It took me so long to figure out who I actually am that I don't want to let them take that away from me.”

Santarelli said being publicly gender-nonconforming has become much more difficult since Trump's election, referencing an instance a few weeks after the November election when someone called them a slur at an IHOP. 

Most of their friends are also trans. It is easier for them to surround themselves with people who share life experiences, said Santarelli.

To take their mind away from the news cycle and anti-transgender rhetoric, they make quilts, splurge on white bows to wear in their hair and write fantasy novels. 

“I had never cut so many quilt squares in my life as I have since the election,” Santarelli said.