When I was four years old, my dad’s job transferred him north, so he and my mom moved our family to Canada for six years. While living there, they decided that we should all become Canadian citizens. I don’t know what compelled my parents to go through the process of gaining citizenship for all of us in a country we didn’t plan to live in very long, but I’m glad they did. Through the years, it’s always felt like a safety net for me, especially as anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment here in the United States has increased.
Last summer, as the presidential election loomed, my wife and I talked frequently about what it would look like if we decided to take our two kids and leave the country. We understood, and still do, that we’re “protected” here in New York, but when you’re an LGBTQ+ family, it doesn’t matter where you live, or how safe you feel: You must always have a plan.
After Nov. 5, my plan was to cry. All the time. But I had to make dinner for my kids and do the laundry. I also had a deadline for an article I was writing, and I needed to get in touch with my sources.
I have a professional acquaintance in the Midwest who, like me, is queer, married, and raising two kids. I had an unusually difficult time getting her on the phone for our early November interview. “I know this is a challenging time,” I texted, “just let me know when you’re free.” When I finally did get to speak with her, she confessed why she’d been so busy. It wasn’t simply the exhausting aftermath of an election that devastated much of the queer community; she and her trans husband were moving their family abroad.
I was impressed. I don’t know a single person in my queer community who hadn’t considered their own exit strategy in the wake of a Trump administration. I also didn’t know anyone who was actually going through with it. Gina, who requested to withhold her last name for her family’s safety, told me, “I don’t want to live here feeling angry and hurt. It’s not good for my mental well-being, feeling betrayed by people everywhere I go.”
Gina and her husband put their house on the market immediately following the election, and it sold right away. Then, they had to face the harsh logistics of moving their family abroad. She told me that the planning was difficult, but that staying would be worse.
“It’s hard just to be in public. I look around and I think, half of the people in this room voted to hurt us, and did that because they are either ignorant, or they hate us,” she said.
Leaving the place they call home is emotional for Gina and her family, but she wants to keep them safe. “If we live somewhere where our rights are protected at a federal level, that might feel like a relief,” she added.
The logistics of moving abroad
Gina introduced me to Jess Drucker, founder of Rainbow Relocation, a nationwide organization founded to “empower queer folks and their families to move, live, and thrive aboard.” Drucker told me that previously, she worked with individuals and families who were looking for an adventure abroad. In November, she was inundated with requests for help.
“The increase is definitely threat-based and fear-based,” she said.
Drucker is also working more than ever with trans people, she told me. “That’s the group that feels the most under threat and has the most rush on their paperwork for gender markers, gender identity and passports. That’s much more complex,” she said.
I inquired about which countries people were looking into, and Drucker confessed, “I’m a bit of a dream-killer.”
“People are looking at the world as a buffet of country options,” she told me, but what they actually need to consider is their own value. If you’re wealthy, you might consider a European Golden Visa, which offers foreign investors a temporary residence permit if they maintain an investment – usually real estate – within the country. Some nations offer temporary residence to highly skilled migrants, which are foreigners with advanced degrees or specialized professions who will bring their skills to the nation’s workforce.
“If you don’t offer professional value, you can still offer something to economically insecure countries,” Drucker explained. There are volunteer opportunities in countries that are queer and trans friendly, like Nicaragua or Bolivia.
She was also clear that it is extremely difficult for LGBTQ+ Americans to seek asylum.
“Going [abroad] and hoping to get asylum status comes at great financial peril should that claim get rejected and you have to move back to the US,” she said. “If you are going to move your life — a costly endeavor, of course — you might as well become as informed as possible how to do that with intention, on visas that you can qualify for, in countries that are safe.”
Many are taking a ‘wait and see’ approach
Mike Garda, a New York-based therapist who specializes in LGBTQ+ issues, told me that initially, he had many conversations with his patients about moving. “I’ve observed a pretty steep decline in discussions about leaving the country, as folks have had more time to process, receive community care, and at times confront the reality of how difficult it would be to move abroad,” he said.
Once the initial shock had worn off, Garda was able to shift conversations to what was within his clients’ control. “I helped many of my clients identify things they felt were possible to complete promptly and preemptively, such as name changes, gender marker designations and renewing passports,” he said. “I don’t think these conversations are over, and I expect that as we see new legislation roll out, folks will continue to mourn and look for a way to escape the pain of being marginalized and systematically oppressed.”
Even Garda admitted that he had considered leaving, but ultimately he didn’t feel it would be right. “I think it would be incredibly privileged to move to Europe and continue to work virtually with clients who are unable to exert the same mobility. I think this is a time for queer resistance whether that is through activism, coalition-building [or] simply existing as we are,” he said.
For many in the queer community, we will simply have to wait and see what happens. “I would love to be wrong,” Gina told me. “I would love to end up looking foolish for going abroad with our children for a couple of months or years. Wouldn’t that be the best-case scenario?”
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If you, like Gina, do decide it’s time to go, Drucker is ready to help. For people who can’t afford her fees, her Facebook group Queer Expats is a great place to connect and find helpful resources. The group’s membership grew by the thousands in the days following the election. “If a whole community is feeling scared, then we need to take it pretty seriously,” she said.
For now, my family is staying put and turning to our community for strength. I can’t imagine leaving my loved ones, even as I mourn the future that I wanted for my children and the rights we stand to lose. Every LGBTQ+ American is faced with a choice right now about how to stay safe, how to move forward and how best to embody our own queer resistance. It’s okay if that resistance looks like a relocation abroad, engaging in activism or just simply existing as usual and living our everyday lives. My dual citizenship is a safety net I feel lucky to have, but my hope is that — for now — I won’t have to use it.