I’m Trans, and I Fled the US Because I Feel Unsafe

Robin Cóir decided they had to leave the United States as soon as the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade. Cóir is transgender and nonbinary, and they saw the national right to abortion as the canary in the coal mine: Soon, they thought, the country would attack LGBTQ communities with renewed vigor.

In 2022, anti-trans hate went mainstream. Hundreds of anti-LGBTQ bills were introduced in state legislatures, many of them targeting trans people. GOP politicians and right wing pundits have also created a culture war over trans people, calling them “groomers” and “sexual predators,” while some legislators have equated gender-affirming care with child abuse. Together, it feels to many like there is an all-out attack on trans existence in the United States.

So, in August 2022, Cóir packed two suitcases and a purse, and fled to Europe. They currently live in a German asylum camp, where they plan to seek “subsidiary protection” from the country so that they don’t have to return to the U.S. 

“We are now being called—all of us—sexual child predators.”

“I find the possibility of somebody coming to attack me—whether intentionally or I just happen to be in an area filled with other LGBT people—too significant, especially with the conversation around us now being so vilifying,” Cóir told VICE News. “We are now being called—all of us—sexual child predators.”

They’re not the only trans person who has considered leaving. In fact, a non-profit dedicated to helping trans U.S. citizens claim asylum in Europe was launched following the fall of Roe. Since the story broke of Americans seeking asylum in Europe, criticisms have surfaced. Some experts are concerned that trans people seeking asylum in an already crowded European system could contribute to the asylum backlog. But ultimately, Cóir knew they had to leave.

VICE News spoke with Cóir about their decision to flee, their likely return to the U.S, and their concerns about the future of the U.S. for trans people. 

This article, told in Cóir’s words, has been edited for length and clarity. 

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I have known that I have needed to leave America for a long time. But I officially made the decision when the American Supreme Court brought down their ruling that eliminated a person’s rights to terminate pregnancy. [On Friday, June 24, 2022, the U.S. Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade in their Dobbs v. Jackson decision.] 

I made the decision very quickly because I felt like I was imminently in danger. 

There are plenty of good people in America, but there are plenty of people who just want to kill us straight up. So, I left America on Aug. 17, 2022. I’ve been living with my mom since I was born, so the night before I left, I had been trying to sleep in the recliner of the common room. My mom had been watching TV there. I had not fallen asleep yet, but I heard the TV go off. I heard her start to cry. She felt me doing this was a very expensive way to die by suicide. I assured her that doing this was my alternative to suicide. I told her, “If I stay in America, I will commit suicide because I’m terrified of what the bigots would do to me.”

I made the decision to go to Denmark initially because I knew I just wanted to go to Europe in general. There’s also someone I care about there and figured there’d be one face I knew. I wanted to hopefully take some time to find a job there and immigrate via work visa before going to what was basically my main plan: asylum. After looking generally at Denmark’s overall government, it seemed like everything I could really want. Eventually, I learned that their immigration and asylum policies are extremely restrictive. I didn’t really have much chance of making it in Denmark, and everyone said that Germany would be my best chance of success. 

“There are plenty of good people in America, but there are plenty of people who just want to kill us.”

On Sept. 8, I took a train to Berlin, Germany.  I took the taxi over to the receiving area for asylum seekers. Once I had said the words “I’m applying for asylum,” they took me in and I started the process. 

I was put in a camp for asylum seekers. Luckily for me, I had a room to myself, despite all the rooms being made with four beds in them, probably because I arrived on my own. It was very difficult at times to get some of my basic needs met. When first beginning the asylum process, I allowed myself to break down for a bit. For the most part, though, it was good people. The housing was humane. The nutrition was somewhat minimal, but it was enough. I kept to myself largely, but I did try to make some kind of friends in the courtyard. Being the big gamer that I am—I still had some extra money at the time—I went out and bought some tabletop games from the local market and set them up in the courtyard.

I stayed in Berlin for about three weeks. When I arrived, I had to surrender my passport. I still do not have this passport. As long as I’m in the system, I am not allowed to have my passport. They told me that different cities were set up for people from different countries, and this camp in Berlin was not set up for people from America. I have to assume none of them really were. The concept of an American coming for asylum in the first place is inconceivable to them, I think. When I was told that this camp was not set up for my situation, I learned, with little notice, that I was being sent off somewhere else. I was told to leave right now, right away.

From Berlin, I went to Karlsruhe for a single night. The conditions were horrible. It literally felt like a prison. I was then put on a bus to Sigmaringen. When I made it to Sigmaringen, they asked for my passport, which I obviously did not have, so I told them that they should be able to get it from their colleagues in Berlin. They eventually accepted my American driver’s license. So I basically don’t have any form of identification other than what they’ve issued to me.

“The concept of an American coming for asylum in the first place is inconceivable to them, I think.”

When I was there, I made sure to let people know that I am LGBT. I probably was even wearing my shirt—one of my favorite shirts—that literally has a heart with transgender flag colors on it. I let them know that I’m LGBT because they know that LGBT people are persecuted throughout the world. They said between that status and the medication that I take, Sigmaringen was not properly equipped to help me, so they were sending me over Tübingen, where people are much more capable of helping me. That happened in mid-October. At Tübingen, the camp provided me with the medication that I need. There is an LGBT community I am connected with, so I had pretty much everything.

In that particular camp, there are basically two houses where people live. We ate breakfast at either 8am or 9am, lunch at noon, and dinner at five. 

Day-to-day, I woke up, I went to breakfast at eight. Usually at least once per week I had to go to the sani-station, which is where their medical stuff is and I had to request a refill on medication because they only gave me about two weeks worth of medication at a time. But that sani-station is also where I could arrange appointments with a doctor for my physical or mental health.I’m on all the same medications: Bupropion, guanfacine, estradiol, and spironolactone. I was briefly taken off spiro because I had a rather severe case of gastroenteritis over the weekend. I just got connected with a general doctor. He examined me and found that I can safely resume it.

At Tübingen, the German language class started up at 2pm, but otherwise I was pretty much left to myself. Oftentimes I’d hike over to a nearby library, and I was able to get a card that allowed me  access to their computers. When I was in my room, I was doing things on the internet with my phone, which could be anything as essential as applying for jobs or as casual as just playing my games. There’s a tabletop gaming group that meets in the library every Thursday night. I made sure never to miss one of those.

“There has been intense pressure for me to voluntarily return to America.”

I had been at that one spot for three months. I was transferred to a house in Dettenhausen. with two housemates. One speaks Russian, one speaks Arabic. None of us know the other’s language, and we’re all trying to figure it out together. This whole thing feels like the setup of a sitcom. I was given about €480 to last me through February, and a bunch of it went toward establishing basic necessities here like cleaning equipment and dinnerware. Now my budget is stretched so very thin, basically €8 per day to spend on food. It’s going to take a lot of discipline to get through this, but we’re all helping each other. I definitely want to work as soon as possible. 

The next step of this whole relocation process is that I’m supposed to be interviewed by someone and tell them my story. From that, they would make a decision on whether I would be accepted. I’ve not had this interview. There have been plenty of people who have come after me and got their interview before me though, and there has been intense pressure for me to voluntarily return to America. 

The social workers have been telling me it is just about guaranteed that I am going to fail in this whole process. I was advised to keep looking for work, so I have been. But I’m not getting any interviews so far. It’s been universal rejections. 

To clarify one point, when it comes time for my interview, I would not be seeking asylum. I would be seeking subsidiary protection, which is an important distinction, because asylum is for when you have a specific threat against you and subsidiary protection applies to a more general state of things. 

[According to Germany’s Federal Office for Migration and Refugees, people are entitled to subsidiary protection if they “put forward substantial grounds for the presumption that they are at risk of serious harm in their country of origin and that they cannot take up the protection of their country of origin or do not wish to take it up because of that threat.” Serious harm includes “the imposition or enforcement of the death penalty”, “torture or inhuman or degrading treatment”, and “a serious individual threat to the life or integrity of a civilian as a result of arbitrary force within an international or domestic armed conflict.”]

We’ve got people from Ukraine who have every reason to be seeking asylum right now. [In February 2022 Russia invaded Ukraine, launching a war that continues today. Millions of women and children from Ukraine have fled their homes and ended up in countries throughout Europe.] We’ve got LGBT people from the Middle East where it’s legislated that we are to be killed. They have very good reasons to seek asylum. In America, the written law does defend us for the most part, and the only real strength I have is how easy it is for people with the motivation to get a gun—even if you’re in a blue state to get a gun from a neighboring red state. Despite how bad things are, considering how bad things are elsewhere, it seems like it’s going to need to get a lot worse before they really will take our position seriously here. 

“When it comes time for my interview, I would not be seeking asylum. I would be seeking subsidiary protection, which is an important distinction.”

I used to live in Wisconsin, and it’s not quite Trump country there, but it’s really, really turning into that. While in Wisconsin, I did not experience any significant discrimination. There’s unfortunately always the bathroom issue, and it always disturbed me that I need to go to that one restroom and I’m not allowed into the other. Other than that, nobody has directly been transphobic with me, but when I came out, I did say that “if this is a deal breaker for you, if you don’t like trans people, get the fuck off my friends list right now.”

The only real issue is that most people misgender me. A lot of people make the effort [but] at work, plenty of people did not. The people that knew me by my dead name just insisted on calling me that for a long time. They refused to call me by my chosen name, refused to gender me properly, and even once I had my name changed, they still insisted on misgendering me constantly. 

I have not received any violence over it  [but] just, but just because I’ve not experienced violence yet doesn’t mean I won’t. I work deep in Trump country, so I have to pass all sorts of people like that. I see all the time how easy it is for people to commit gun violence. To and from work, I constantly see signs about any upcoming gun classes to get a gun license. It’s like, you don’t necessarily need to have your house robbed to lock your door when you leave. I find the possibility of somebody coming to attack me—whether intentionally or I just happen to be in an area filled with other LGBT people—too significant, especially with the conversation around us now being so vilifying. We are now being called—all of us—sexual child predators.

So it’s very plausible someone that happens to be by me is going to be disturbed by something they see on the news. The House of Representatives is now under the control of Republicans. And the speaker appointed extremely hard right QAnon people to very important committees. So to have people like that in charge of our security really makes me feel unsafe.

[GOP Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, who has espoused QAnon conspiracy theories, was recently appointed to the House Homeland Security Committee. She also joined  Rep. Paul Gosar and Rep. Lauren Boebert, two representatives who have championed anti-trans policies, on the House Committee on Oversight and Reform]

I was all set to voluntarily return to America under much duress, and only once I heard about the existence of TRANSport, I had decided to put that on pause. I contacted that group, and I’m waiting to hear back. [TRANSport is a nonprofit that formed following the fall of Roe that aims to help transgender U.S. citizens flee the country.]

“It tears me apart that I needed to do this in the first place. That America is not safe for us.”

The existence of such a group tells me that I’m definitely not the only one who’s dealing with this. If this is being organized to help transgender people seek asylum, hopefully there is something that they can do to help me in all of this. But I’m likely going to end up going back to America. Since the only hope I have of making it here realistically is to find a job, and all I can do on that front is apply to places online, I might as well be there and earn income and hope I don’t get killed by the bigots.

If I go back to America, I will be employed; my old job has agreed to take me back. I have insurance. I can do all the job applications online while in America, too. The main catch is, of course, the whole reason I left in the first place: I think a bigot is going to end up killing me, possibly in a slaughter like what we’ve experienced at Club Q.

[In November, a man walked into an LGBTQ club in Colorado Springs, Colorado, and opened fire, killing five, including two trans people. Several reporters and advocates said the anti-LGBTQ hate that surfaced in the aftermath of the shooting at Club Q is the worst they’ve ever seen following such a tragedy.]

Given that I have so much pressure to return as is, I really hate to say this, but I really sadly have to advise against applying for asylum for the moment until it is extremely obvious that we are in a life-threatening danger.

Our lives are definitely going to be hell for a while in America, but it’s going to have to be significantly more dire than even this for us to have a realistic chance. I definitely understand anyone who is as terrified as I am and feels like they need to get out. [If an asylum seeker is rejected, they have to leave Germany and may face a ban on re-entry.]

It tears me apart that I needed to do this in the first place. That America is not safe for us. I felt I needed to abandon everyone I know and love. The things that I’m afraid might come to pass—maybe they’ll come to pass and the people who have not been able to get out, they will become victims of all of this. It terrifies me that I will be rejected and I’ll be forced back into America where I need to endure this because Germany does not understand what’s going on here. There have been times when it’s been very difficult to keep it together.