No One Was Helping Black Transgender Youth. So These Parents Stepped In.

WASHINGTON — Milissa Bell’s parents initially didn’t embrace her identity when she came out as transgender about 10 years ago, when she was still a preteen. Instead, they told her to love herself for the “man” she was, adding a layer of confusion to an already messy time in the lives of most adolescents.

“They were accepting [only] of the child they wanted me to be,” said Bell, 20. “I didn’t know who this ‘son’ was they were talking about, and it all felt so unkind because I needed them to be loving. I always had somebody telling me that my parents are so lovely, and I can see how they are now. At the time, though, that [sentiment] fell flat to me.”

But then, Bell said, it was as if her parents, Keisha and Sean Bell, did a complete 180. They began trying to understand what she was telling them about her identity. Once they started on that journey, however, they struggled to find other Black parents in the same boat, who might also be attempting to figure out how to support their child in a society that’s often hostile to transgender Americans.

Keisha and Sean Bell became determined to fill this resource gap. They’re among a growing group of Black parents who are building a support network. This year, they launched Rainbow in Black, a nonprofit that provides tools to Black families of transgender youth, who face mounting levels of discrimination. The goal is to offer the kind of help that the Bells needed — but couldn’t quite track down.

This attention is especially important in the current political climate, Bell, a student at Bowie State University, a historically Black school in Prince George’s County, Maryland, told Capital B. 

“In this environment that we’re in right now, it feels like an understatement to say that there’s misinformation being spread about this community,” she said. “People really forget that we’re human beings.”

Milissa Bell’s parents, Keisha and Sean Bell, launched Rainbow in Black, a nonprofit that provides tools to Black families of transgender youth. (Kuwilileni Hauwanga/Capital B)

Nearby Montgomery County was recently at the center of a U.S. Supreme Court battle over LGBTQ books in the classroom. The court decided this summer that parents who have religious objections can pull their children from public school lessons that include LGBTQ figures. In the term starting this week, the court might strike down “conversion therapy” bans and uphold laws forcing transgender student athletes to play on teams that don’t align with their gender identity.

The LGBTQ books decision followed a string of executive orders targeting transgender Americans. President Donald Trump in January issued directives attempting to ban transgender troops from openly serving in the military, restrict gender-affirming care for youth, essentialize gender, and discourage schools from supporting students who are socially transitioning.

Bell’s parents remember what it was like to be rudderless — to struggle to find sympathetic health professionals, legal assistance, and even just advice about dating for a child who’s transgender — and they want to pave a path for other Black families.

“It would’ve been fantastic to connect with others in a culturally relevant way, to connect with people also experiencing the two edges of having a child who’s both Black and gender-diverse,” Keisha Bell told Capital B at the organization’s official kickoff event earlier this year, as she recalled how she and her husband couldn’t find other Black parents.

Dozens were gathered at the Human Rights Campaign headquarters in Washington, D.C., to celebrate what many said was a milestone for Black representation, as an assortment of music pumped through the speakers and attendees enjoyed light bites and drinks.

“There are some unique blessings,” she added, “but also some unique challenges.”

Changing the narrative

The stakes of this political moment are especially high for Black transgender and nonbinary youth. Twenty-one percent have attempted suicide in recent years, and almost half don’t feel safe at school, according to reports that The Trevor Project and the Human Rights Campaign released in 2024.

From fatal violence and homelessness to erasure in the classroom, an array of problems plague Black transgender Americans, Maryland state Del. Gabriel Acevero told Capital B.

His district covers parts of Montgomery County, and he’s the first out gay man of Afro-Latino descent to be elected to the Maryland General Assembly.

Acevero added that advocates must remain vigilant “because there’s still a lot of work that we need to do” to ensure equality for LGBTQ Americans broadly and for Black transgender Americans in particular.

The torture and killing of 24-year-old Sam Nordquist, a Black transgender man, shocked LGBTQ Americans earlier this year. David Johns, the executive director of the National Black Justice Collective, a civil rights group dedicated to empowering Black LGBTQ Americans, told Capital B at the time that he worries about how there are “others in our community who are missing or have been murdered whose names we don’t know — and might never know.”

Despite the deep vulnerability afflicting Black transgender Americans, there have historically been few resources that cater specifically to this group and their families.

Only in the past decade or so have advocates started to puncture the narrative that transgender youth “aren’t a thing” in Black communities, according to Ellen Kahn, the senior director of programs and partnerships at the Human Rights Campaign.

“If you looked at who was talking about having a transgender kid, you weren’t really seeing Black families — the first couple of waves of parents-as-advocates were predominantly white,” Kahn told Capital B at the event, in the studio just outside where the main festivities were occurring.

“Jodie Patterson was, I believe, one of the first Black parents who went public and whose story really took off on social media,” Kahn continued. She was referring to the mother of five turned advocate who published a memoir in 2020 detailing her journey as a parent after her 3-year-old son told her, “Mama, I’m not a girl. I am a boy.”

Bell noted that her own identity journey began years before Dwyane Wade and Gabrielle Union started using their platform to advocate for their daughter, Zaya Wade, who came out as trangender in 2020. 

“I love seeing it!” Bell said of the celebrity pair’s relationship with their daughter, who marked her 18th birthday this summer with a ball in Los Angeles. All proceeds were donated to Translatable, her digital platform created to support LGBTQ youth.

The power of an “Auntie Sonia”

Amir Belt, who came out as transgender about five years ago, calls his aunt Sonia Murphy “my biggest cheerleader.” (Kuwilileni Hauwanga/Capital B)

Amir Belt, 19, said that he could have benefited from a nonprofit such as Rainbow in Black when he came out as transgender around five years ago. At times, he explained, finding support was a challenge, including in Black communities.

“I’ve never fully understood why that is, because we’re all Black,” Belt, who lives in Upper Marlboro, Maryland, told Capital B. “But I’ve come across people who are Black and just aren’t with that, you know?”

As someone who loves all kinds of sports, he also thinks about how the bans affecting transgender athletes have only intensified over the past several years. He laments the fact that some people “aren’t even able to play the sports they want because of who they are.”

Despite the sobering state of things, Belt has always had at least one person who’s been his rock: his aunt, Sonia Murphy, better known as “Auntie Sonia. She’s his full legal guardian.

“She’s, like, not my dawg or my sister, but she’s someone who comes through in the clutch,” he said. “She’s been my biggest cheerleader, especially when I was coming out. There’s always been support from Auntie Sonia, and that’s been a blessing.”

Murphy, Rainbow in Black’s co-founder and program director, said that the nonprofit exists because she and other Black parents and guardians wanted to break free of the silo they were operating in.

They hope that, through their small nonprofit, they can have a big impact on the lives of others.

“I didn’t know a single other family [with a transgender child]. At all. I started to make connections through GenderCool and other organizations, and I met other families, but they weren’t Black,” Murphy, an attorney, told Capital B at the event. “And this journey is a cultural experience as much as it is anything else. Caring for a gender-diverse child raises questions for our communities, like: What’s the role of the Black church in supporting LGBTQ kids?”

Filling a void

Stephen Chukumba, the co-founder and advocacy and outreach coordinator of Rainbow in Black, felt like he was on an island after his wife passed away. She died the year before one of his four children came out as transgender in 2017, and he was utterly alone as a parent.

“I was out of my depth,” Chukumba told Capital B at the event, sitting next to Murphy, adding that he never wants another family to have to experience that kind of solitude. “We want to help families find other people who might be in similar situations. There’s a kind of scaling effect when we come together — we can do more than we can on our own.”

In August, Rainbow in Black introduced a free virtual community room for the parents and guardians of Black transgender and nonbinary youth. The room — which is billed as a “safe space” curated “by us, for us” — convenes at 6:30 p.m. Eastern Time on the third Wednesday of every month. Participants are encouraged to bring their “cares and concerns,” their “stories of joy and resistance,” and their “authentic selves.”

Rainbow in Black also offers training sessions and workshops for schools, families, and organizations to boost understanding of Black transgender and nonbinary experiences. And it manages a growing database of videos and guides, including a new one on dating and disclosure for Black trangender youth as they navigate intimate relationships, and provides referrals to legal services, therapists, and health care providers.

The parents and guardians Capital B spoke with said that they breathed a huge sigh of relief when their children became adults. They felt as if they could be more vocal about their activism because gone suddenly was the fear that, as Murphy put it, “someone was gonna snatch our kids’ health care away.” But they’re keenly aware that there are others who are in a far more precarious situation.

“They’re facing all of these challenges, and doing it during this administration,” Murphy added. “And we want to say to them, ‘We’re not new to this. We’re true to this. We’re here and ready to guide you.’ And we can do this without worrying about our own babies so much. Now, there are a million other reasons we need to worry about our babies, but at a minimum, we’ve gotten our babies to maturity.”

Transgender youth such as Bell and Belt have been the target of a string of executive orders by the White House this year. Despite this, “I hope that telling our story — our human story — can help someone, and maybe bring some light,” Bell said. (Kuwilileni Hauwanga/Capital B)

Keisha Bell, a doctor, shared similar sentiments. She acknowledged that Rainbow in Black is nascent and that its team is still figuring out the most effective way to be a resource.

But one thing that she and her team know for sure, she said, is this: There are Black families desperate for help.

“I definitely know of families who have had to leave, who have had to move from one state to another,” Bell said. “I also know of families who are just isolated. Maybe there’s no interest in leaving, or maybe there are no resources. But they also need support.”

She was referring to the families fleeing red states for blue states, where they hope to find environments supportive of the rights and dignity of their transgender children. (Wade and Union left Florida for this reason in 2021: “My child isn’t safe there,” Union said in 2023.)

So far in 2025, the Trans Legislation Tracker has monitored nearly 1,000 restrictive bills, with many of them originating in red states such as Texas. While the majority have failed, advocates still worry that these bills are a powerful signaling mechanism to the Republican Party base. But if anything, this climate has only solidified Bell’s resolve.

“The political atmosphere — the rhetoric, the general tone — coming from our government has been separate from my sense of community,” she said. “It’s just made me want to press forward, because our families, and this is true no matter your race or ethnicity, are going to need one another to get through the next however many years.”

Her daughter agreed, underscoring that she’s eager to advance her parents’ mission.

“They want to be those Black parents they didn’t have, and that’s cool,” Bell said. “I hope that telling our story — our human story — can help someone, and maybe bring some light. My mom is always telling me that: Bring some light to the situation.”

The post No One Was Helping Black Transgender Youth. So These Parents Stepped In. appeared first on Capital B News.