What Sanctuary Really Means

Contributed

For Pride month, city councilperson, advocate, and nonprofit leader Tyler Titus has taken the opportunity to address Erie's LGBTQIA+ Sanctuary City status and what that really means for queer folks in our city.

They stopped going to the grocery store.

That was one of the first things they told me. A simple act that once felt normal – picking up eggs, bread, a favorite snack – had started to feel like walking through fire. The stares. The second glances. The "sir" or "ma'am" said with uncertainty or, worse, disdain. They never knew which it would be – only that by the end, they would feel small.

Coming out as transgender wasn't a bold announcement for them – it was a quiet truth, finally spoken after years of carrying it alone. But even whispered truths can make you a target.

At one job, coworkers would smirk when they walked in, misgender them in front of customers, and act like it was harmless – just teasing. At another, the manager never said their identity was the problem, only that they "didn't seem focused" or "weren't a good fit." No one ever said the word "trans," but the message was clear.

They can't prove they were fired because of who they are. What they can say is this: the cruelty broke them down. They stopped sleeping. Their chest tightened at every shift. The anxiety made it impossible to concentrate, and the isolation crept in like fog until even showing up felt unbearable.

They began to unravel – not because they were weak, but because they were being quietly crushed.

Each job loss wasn't just a financial blow – it was a gut-punch to their sense of worth. A reminder that being themselves came with a cost they never agreed to pay.

Misgendering, isolation, the constant edge of being seen as a problem for simply existing. It wears a person down.

They told me, "I thought once I knew who I was, it would get easier. But now I just feel like I have to explain myself to everyone, all the time."

They're not alone.

Across the United States, transgender and nonbinary people – especially youth and young adults – are under siege. From bathroom bans to book bans, from healthcare restrictions to the criminalization of affirming care, lawmakers are building walls around us while pretending it's for our protection.

It's not.

According to The Trevor Project's 2023 National Survey on the Mental Health of LGBTQIA+ Young People, 41 percent of LGBTQIA+ young people (aged 13 to 24) seriously considered attempting suicide in the past year. For transgender and nonbinary youth, that number rose to nearly 50 percent. These aren't just statistics – they're lives. Stories. Futures that hang in the balance.

More than half of trans and nonbinary youth who wanted mental health care couldn't access it. Barriers include fear of rejection, lack of affirming providers, high costs, and – more recently – state laws banning access altogether.

These young people are told they're too young to know who they are, even as they are being cut off from trained professionals who could help them safely explore their identities with care and support.

Let me be clear: the cruelty is the point. These laws are designed not to protect – but to punish. To silence. To erase.

And yet, even in places like Erie, where we pride ourselves on being open-hearted, these barriers persist.

Last year, Erie City Council passed a resolution declaring Erie a sanctuary for people fleeing persecution due to their gender identity or expression. The resolution asked local law enforcement not to cooperate in transporting individuals back to states where being trans or seeking gender-affirming care could be criminalized.

It was an important symbolic step. It said, "You are welcome here."

But what does "welcome" mean if the housing system isn't safe for trans people? If therapists in town don't understand gender identity? If being visibly trans or nonbinary still means walking a tightrope of silence and scrutiny?

Sanctuary isn't just about what we don't do. It's about what we build.

We need affirming providers. We need gender-inclusive policies in schools, clinics, shelters, and workplaces. We need spaces where queer and trans people can gather, share meals, swap clothes, and remember they are not alone.

Erie has a few of those spaces – and they are lifelines.

Compton's Table offers free gender-affirming clothing and hygiene products, a quiet place to breathe, and peer-led programs that help queer youth and young adults build life skills (Chat n Chill, True North, or Open Mic). TransFamily of NWPA offers support groups, community events, and safe spaces for trans people and their loved ones to ask hard questions without fear.

But these organizations are small, grassroots, and overworked. They are doing the work that systems should be doing. They are holding space in a country where space is being rapidly stripped away.

And here's the truth: it shouldn't have to be this hard.

When a young person tells you who they are, believe them. When they say they need help, listen. They are not too young. They are not confused. They are surviving in a world that keeps telling them not to try.

Trans youth don't need saving from themselves. They need saving from a world that keeps shutting the door on their futures.

We can do better. We must do better. And we begin by asking ourselves: What does it actually mean to create sanctuary?

It means funding queer-led organizations. It means protecting access to mental health care. It means ending policies that punish doctors, teachers, practitioners, and parents for offering support and affirmation. It means passing inclusive local policies that recognize all genders and orientations. And it means showing up – with your time, your money, and your voice.

Here's how you can take action:

• Donate to local organizations like Compton's Table or TransFamily of NWPA.
• Educate yourself and others about gender-affirming care, which is supported by every major medical and psychological association in the U.S.
• Call your state and federal legislators and demand they stop the attacks on trans healthcare, education, and safety.
• Create affirming spaces – at work, in school, at home – where gender-diverse people are welcomed without question.

The young adult I met? They're still here. Still navigating. Still trying. They found a small supportive group of friends where they feel less alone. They started drawing again. They found laughter, even after loss.

They haven't gone back to the grocery store yet. But they're thinking about it.

And maybe – if we do this right – if we build a world where sanctuary is more than a promise – they'll feel safe enough to walk through those doors again, head held high.

Because everyone deserves a place where they don't have to explain their existence. Everyone deserves to feel like they belong.

Especially our young people. Especially now.

Dr. Tyler Titus (they/them) is the board chair of Compton's Table and can be reached at ttitus@comptonstable.org