The Reality of White Trans Privilege

A short collection of thoughts

We as a collective internet community haven’t talked about intersectionality in a while, so here I go. Let’s say it plainly: being white and trans can absolutely suck—it can be alienating, violent, and dangerous in ways only other trans people really get. But being BIPOC and trans? That’s on a whole other level. We’re not just talking about random acts of violence (though those are painfully common). We’re talking about a continuous state of danger, from street harassment to medical neglect that can literally be deadly. Yes, deadly. Not metaphorically. Not in some abstract, “worsened outcomes” kind of way. Actually ending lives.

White trans people benefit from white privilege as I have said before. Period. It’s just a fact. We don’t get to neatly separate “transphobia” from “racism” and pretend they happen in isolated little bubbles. BIPOC trans folks live at the intersection of these realities, and that intersection is not just uncomfortable—it’s fatal. It means facing employers who think Blackness and transness together are too “complicated” to hire. It means doctors won’t prescribe hormones or treat infections properly because of racist assumptions layered over transphobic ones. It means looking over your shoulder in neighbourhoods that should feel like home but can turn violent in a heartbeat.

Let’s throw in some numbers—because this isn’t just a feeling, it’s backed up by data. According to the 2015 U.S. Transgender Survey, Black trans respondents were about twice as likely to be living in poverty compared to their white counterparts, this is even worse for other BIPOC demographics like "Native Americans", "Latino/a" and "Multiracial" groups who are 3 times more likely to be living in poverty. That same report found that BIPOC trans folks experience higher rates of unemployment, housing instability, and harassment in educational settings. When it comes to violence, the National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs (NCAVP) consistently reports that the majority of reported anti-LGBTQ homicides affect transgender women of colour. That’s not just a statistic—it’s a damning indictment of the systems we live under.

The truth is, if you are white and trans, you may be scared when you step outside, but you still have a better shot at getting what you need—a doctor who eventually listens, a system that sometimes acknowledges you, a media narrative that at least includes your experience. BIPOC trans people are often left out to dry, scraping by with fewer resources and fewer safe spaces, constantly on guard because this world doesn’t just “misunderstand” them—it actively tries to erase them.

It’s not enough to say “BIPOC trans lives matter” when it’s trending. We need to internalize what that means. We need to push back against the idea that all trans experiences are identical because “we’re all marginalized.” We need to face the fact that whiteness insulates, even if that insulation is thin. We need to call out those dynamics in our own communities, our own activism, our own friend groups.

If we’re going to shout “trans rights!” at the top of our lungs, we better be damn sure we’re including BIPOC trans voices front and centre in that rallying cry. That means prioritizing their safety, funding their mutual aid, believing their stories, and following their lead. It means acknowledging that BIPOC trans folks carry the weight of multiple oppressive systems all at once—something many white trans people simply do not and cannot fully understand. That’s intersectionality in action, and we can’t talk about trans liberation without it.

It’s time we stop dancing around the issue. White trans privilege is real, it’s pervasive, and it’s getting people killed who don’t have it. Own that. Do something about it. Because if we’re not working to dismantle the entire system that makes BIPOC trans lives disposable, then what the hell are we even doing here?

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