Judy: Lesbian, gay, and bisexual
people are incarcerated at a
rate three times higher than the
general population, but as
special correspondent cat wise
reports, when lgbtq people are
released from prison, experts
say many reentry programs fail
to meet their unique needs.
This story is part of our
ongoing series "Searching for
justice."
Cat: For T.J. King, visiting
"Das Haus," an lgbtq bar in
Lincoln, Nebraska, is
bittersweet.
About a decade ago, king, who
uses the pronoun "They" and is
non-binary-meaning their gender
identity is not strictly male or
female, was a partner in a
nightclub at this location.
>> We were one of, I would say
maybe three or four black
business owners that actually
had a nightclub.
However, that was a period in my
life when things were about to
about to spiral drastically out
of control.
I was in the throes of my
addiction.
Cat: In 2016, king pleaded
guilty to possession of ecstasy
and two counts of theft by
deception, leading to a just
over four year prison term.
King had served time for other
drug and fraud charges over the
years, but this time, they vowed
to make a change once they were
released.
T.J.: This time, I'm like,
"Look, T.J. You're going to be
50.
You're going to be 50.
You don't you don't have you
don't have a lot more chances."
Cat: King feared that a
traditional reentry housing
service, like a halfway house or
temporary emergency shelter,
would leave them vulnerable to
harassment.
T.J.: I'm going to be in there
with the same people I was just
in prison with.
I don't want that.
If you're somebody that is
black, gay, and HIV positive in
the prison system, it's just not
-- it's just not cool.
Cat: His story is not unique.
An estimated 1 in 12 people in
prison identify as lesbian, gay,
bisexual, or transgender.
But experts and advocates say
many reentry programs around the
country fail to meet their needs
once they're released.
Among the most vulnerable, trans
women.
>> Because I was transgender, I
was policed in a different way.
Cat: Jasmine tasaki is an
advocate for the trans community
who grew up in Memphis,
Tennessee.
Should Jasmine: When I was
young, there was no term called
transgender or no term to really
help me understand who I was
.
I can remember seeing other
little girls and seeing grown
women and literally idolizing
them, knowing that one day I
would be beautiful and knowing
that this is who I was.
But I also had the awareness
that whatever I felt about
myself was considered to be
wrong, was considered to be
untrue, and was considered to be
dangerous for other children.
Cat: She was sexually assaulted
as a child, and later turned to
sex work to make a living.
Jasmine: It was a way for me to
regain control over my life, you
know, over my sex life, but also
over my life because sex had
taken control over my life as a
-- over my life.
As a child, you shouldn't have
to go through that.
Jasmine: -- Cat: Tasaki was
jailed at least 14 times for
charges related to sex work, her
experience is common.
A 2018 study found that every
time a young trans woman is
incarcerated, her odds of
recidivism increase.
And, it said, her ability to
reintegrate after incarceration
may be hindered by the added
stigma of being trans.
Tasaki says there are few
housing options to help stop the
cycle.
Jasmine: Once they see that
you're trans, you're not getting
in the door.
Shelters are not letting trans
people come in as themselves.
And trans people should not be
forced to go to one gender
shelters.
Cat: Sociologist joss Greene
studied reentry programs in San
Francisco's bay area.
Joss: No trans women that I
formally interviewed or met in
the course of my field research
wanted to or felt safe in men's
housing programs.
Cat: He found that many women's
shelters admitted cisgender
women, that is, women whose
gender identity matches the sex
they are assigned at birth, but
excluded most trans women.
Joss: They were disbelieved as
to really being women.
For the women that were able to
enter these programs, there were
then, you know, a series of
other challenges connected to
the harassment they could
experience, both from cisgender
women in the program and from
the staff themselves.
Cat: Back in Nebraska, king says
this time coming out of prison
was different.
T.J.: I knew it was going to be
a safe space, and that was the
thing that was most important to
me.
Cat: That safe space was this
home on a quiet street in Omaha
called "Lydon house."
It's a free housing and support
program exclusively for
formerly-incarcerated lgbtq
people run by black & pink, a
national non-profit.
Founded in 2020, it was the
brainchild of black & pink's
former head, Dominique Morgan.
King and Morgan were
incarcerated together more than
20 years ago.
Tell me about the first moments
you walked in here.
How did you feel?
T.J.: Well, coming from a space
where I lived in a room probably
about the size of this with six
gentlemen where I was able to
close the door to the bathroom
was wonderful.
I was able to go upstairs and
sleep on a bed with a comforter
and a real pillow, a feather
pillow.
I could just rest for a second.
Cat: Just hearing you describe
how important the rest was for
you.
T.J.: Peace.
Cat: Peace?
T.J.: MM hmm.
Cat: Just as it is affirming and
comfortable.
Andrew: In the welcome packet,
there's fuzzy slippers, socks, a
journal that they can write in.
Little things to welcome them.
Cat: Black and pink provides
personalized services to ease
the reentry process like helping
residents apply for jobs, yoga
and mindfulness sessions to cope
with trauma, cooking and
budgeting classes, and helping
residents navigate the
health care system.
Andrew: That could be mental
health care access.
That could be access to hormone
therapy or just gender affirming
care in general.
We try to keep a list of, you
know, providers that we know are
informed and affirming of lgbtq
individuals and it's the same
for people living with HIV.
Cat: 10 people, including eight
trans women, have lived in Lydon
house.
Unlike some other transitional
housing programs, residents can
stay for as long as they need.
Trans activist tasaki oversees
some of black & pink's programs.
Jasmine: It is a space for
lgbtqia people to come after
they are released, not only have
a safe place to live, but this
is a place for them to thrive
and experience joy.
Cat: But she says the help Lydon
house provides is too rare.
It is the only residential
reentry program in the midwest
that primarily serves trans
people and only three residents
can live there at a time.
Jasmine: If I had Lydon, I know
that, I would have been able to
make better choices, but also I
would have felt seen.
We want to have spaces for
people where they are welcomed
and where they are celebrated.
Cat: King says staying at Lydon
house for more than a year gave
them the opportunity to find
their calling.
Today, they work at the Nebraska
AIDS project, the only
community-based AIDS service
organization in the state.
King aims to give clients hope,
something king says they needed
when they were diagnosed with
HIV in 1993.
>> I never want anybody to feel
the way I felt when I got my
result.
My main purpose and my main
goal, doing what I do is making
sure that that information is
out there, making sure that the
diagnosis that I have just given
you is life altering, but it's
not life ending.
Cat: King now lives in their own
apartment and has been sober for
more than five years.
Where do you think you would be
today if if you hadn't found
Lydon house?
>> A lot of things would have
probably turned out different
for me.
I say that because for me I owe
a lot to Lydon house.
I owe a lot to them.
Cat: With the help of a
supportive landing place, king
is leading a life they couldn't
have imagined just a few years
ago.
For the pbs newshour, I'm cat
wise in Omaha, Nebraska.