
Federal judge rules Trump admin cannot block grants to LGBT groups
A federal judge in California ruled on Monday that the Trump administration cannot enforce executive orders that require groups to halt programs that promote diversity, equity and inclusion or acknowledge the existence of transgender people to receive grant funding.
U.S. District Judge Jon Tigar wrote in his order that a group of pro-LGBTQ nonprofits "demonstrated that they likely have standing to challenge" several provisions in President Donald Trump's executive orders, which the groups argue violate the Constitution.
"These three funding provisions reflect an effort to censor constitutionally protected speech and services promoting DEI and recognizing the existence of transgender individuals," the judge wrote in his order.
Tigar said that while the executive branch "requires some degree of freedom to implement its political agenda, it is still bound by the Constitution," and "cannot weaponize Congressionally appropriated funds to single out protected communities for disfavored treatment or suppress ideas that it does not like or has deemed dangerous."
Lawyers for the government say that the president is permitted to "align government funding and enforcement strategies" with his policies.
Plaintiffs say that Congress — and not the president — has the power to condition how federal funds are used, and that the executive orders restrict free speech rights.
The plaintiffs include health centers, LGBTQ+ services groups, the Gay Lesbian Bisexual Transgender Historical Society and the San Francisco AIDS Foundation. The groups are all recipients of federal funding and say that following the executive orders will prevent them from completing their missions.
The judge's order will remain in effect while the legal case continues, although government lawyers will likely appeal.
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Yahoo
29 minutes ago
- Yahoo
Trans rights are under attack. These trans elders say they ‘aren't afraid'
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And we need to resist that, and challenge that. 'But they can't erase our identities.' For Ramos, the latest attack on trans rights is just one more fight in a series of battles the LGBTQ community has fought in the past decades – and won. 'I don't give a damn' about the latest executive orders, she said. 'We've been overcoming one battle after the other all our lives.' The model and actress lived through the height of the AIDS crisis. After rallying for government action in Washington, DC, and attending countless friends' funerals, she saw the disease go from a death sentence to a survivable condition. And she witnessed same-sex marriage go from a dream to a mundane reality across the US. 'These young people are not used to it, which I completely understand,' she added. 'But we, from the old school, we're not afraid.' Ramos was born in Soca, a small and conservative city in Uruguay, where even coming out as gay 'scandalized' people, she said. She immigrated to Rhode Island alongside her family when she was 7. Although she was certain of her transgender identity from childhood, she thought she would never succeed as an actor if she came out. Most trans women she knew in her youth were pushed into sex work due to the lack of work opportunities for trans people, she said. Instead, she lived publicly as a gay man for decades, fantasizing about the day she would be able to retire and live as her true self. She worked as a Spanish-language interpreter while also racking up acting credits: She appeared as a 'drape' in 'Cry-Baby,' the 1990 film by iconic queer director John Waters. She finally began taking steps to medically and socially transition at 56, after a winding career that included stints in Washington, DC, Arizona, Miami, and New York, as well as an extended period of chronic illness followed by a stroke in 2014. Transitioning 'gave me comfort in my own skin,' she said. 'It's so beautiful.' 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It wasn't until Smith moved to the US and attended college at Skidmore in upstate New York that he met other queer people and came out as a lesbian, finding confidence in a masculine self-presentation. But even though he was part of a burgeoning queer community, his identity was still fraught by the aftereffects of his conservative, religious upbringing: 'I was so worried that the first time I had sex, I actually thought that God was going to strike me down,' he said. When he came out to his mother, she stopped speaking to him for a year. 'It was heartbreaking,' he said. Smith can still remember the first time he met an out trans person, a bartender in New York who was pursuing top surgery (a gender-affirming mastectomy) in California in the 80s – at a time when the gay rights movement was nascent and transgender rights were on the extreme periphery. He was 'blown away' by how the bartender 'was living so freely, and being so expressive,' he said. His own transition – which started when he was 52 after deep soul-searching and years of 'feeling like he was wearing a mask' – gave him the same sense of freedom. 'I felt like I was reborn,' he said. 'For the first time in my life, I felt like I was being truly me.' It's the same freedom that he hopes can be a lesson from trans people for the rest of the world, even as trans people face 'horrible' attacks on their freedoms and rights. 'Trans people teach the rest of society that freedom is real – because we live freedom every day,' he said. 'We live authenticity every day.' Being trans has been the ultimate expression of self-love, he added. 'That's our superpower, is that we love ourselves so much that we're able to make a choice that is for us only,' he said. 'That's the highest form of self-love.' For Pauline Park, attacks on transgender and queer identity are more than just repressive. They also directly contradict a long and rich history of gender variance across the world. 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'Still to this day, I don't like being trapped into any identity, because it's just not something that is fixed,' they explained. Bond's own response to the newest waves of attacks by the Trump administration was one of exasperation and frustration: 'Why do we have to go through this?' But the queer community has survived worse, they said. 'All of our rights were fought for,' they said. 'We've always had ways of working around these patriarchal nimrods, and living our lives and being happy and enjoying each other's company and dancing together and partying together and living together and sleeping together and cooking together.' 'That's not going to stop just because they say we should be unhappy.' Dawn Melody realized that she might be trans later in life – after her son came out first. In 2012, her 12-year-old told her he was transgender. 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Associated Press
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E&E News
44 minutes ago
- E&E News
Trump energy adviser slams renewables, says focus is on fossil fuels
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