TransVisionaries: How Miss Major Helped Spark the Modern Trans Movement

From Stonewall to present day, Miss Major Griffin-Gracy has spent more than 40 years advocating for the marginalized — and she's got tips for young activists.
Miss Major wears a rainbow coat and sits in a convertible at Pride.
Miss Major Griffin-Gracy, who helped spark the modern trans rights movement over 40 years ago.Arrian Jahangiri, Quinn Dombrowski

In TransVisionaries, trans activist Raquel Willis talks with trans elders who helped kick off and shape the trans rights movement as we know it today.

As we celebrate International Women’s Day, we must elevate the brilliant and powerful transgender women of color who have paved the way for today’s social justice movements. Miss Major Griffin-Gracy has spent more than 40 years advocating for the marginalized, whether in prisons or on the streets. Born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, the trans activist came to know herself in the 1950s and 60s, when police raids of queer bars were rampant and the thought of LGBTQ+ people speaking out against oppression was novel. She, alongside other vanguard activists like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, emerged from the perilous 1969 Stonewall Riots with a commitment to support her sisters and other trans family.

Though Miss Major’s lifelong leadership is now widely acclaimed, the road hasn’t always been smooth. She spent several stints in prison during the 1970s, and credits her radical political stance on issues like abolition and Black liberation to those experiences. Despite her own run-ins with white supremacist, cisheteronormative systems like the prison-industrial complex, she has always played a role in building up and motivating the trans community. In MAJOR!, a feature-length documentary that chronicles her life, many of her close friends and confidants share the positive influence she has had on their lives and the various local communities she has lived in.

In 2005, Miss Major joined San Francisco-based Trans Gender Variant and Intersex Justice Project (TGIJP) as a staff organizer, and later as executive director, to lead their efforts advocating for incarcerated transgender women. She officially retired in 2015, but her fire continues to burn. She is currently working on building House of GG’s, a safe haven and retreat house for the transgender community. We caught up with Miss Major to discuss her long fight for liberation, self-care, and her thoughts on the current political climate and what it means for trans activism.

What does it mean for you to be 40 years into your activism and to be an elder now after getting involved in the movement at such a young age?

When you’re doing this out of care and concern, you really don’t think about it as activism or a movement. You think of it as — for me — protecting my girls. Getting to this age is interesting, because things are better than they were when I was growing up. There’s still the stigma of being a trans person, but the world is changing and we are more prominent than we’ve ever been, in a semi-positive light. They’re still killing us, they’re still throwing us underneath the jails, but there are people that are not a part of our community who are bitching about the injustices that they are doing to us. That’s a major step.

You’re right; so much is different now. There are so many young folks that are owning their identities at single-digit ages. What were the dynamics of your family and how did you understand yourself as a kid?

At that point it was, as it is now, a matter of survival. It’s interesting to think about when I was younger — the constraints and the way I had to negotiate through in order to maintain breathing every day. My family would say, “Oh, that boy is acting way too femme, chile” or “You need to beat the ‘shim’ out of him.” They tried, but you know us trans people are some tough sons of bitches. We don’t take that shit, especially the Black girls. We understand what we’ve had to go through as a culture and as a people. It becomes a matter of standing up for who we know we are. It’s not that we believe we’re this or that. We know that’s who we are. When the dust settles, I want my trans girls and guys to stand up and say, ‘I’m still fucking here!’

You grew up on the South Side of Chicago. Do you have any family still there that you see?

Well, everyone else is dead. My father’s family was small and my mother’s family was large. All of my aunts are gone. I may have some cousins here and there. Of course, they’re not going to keep up with me. As I was living my life, I didn’t have time to hold connections to people who would rather I die than breathe and be successful.

You’ve lived in a lot of places, but you most recently moved from San Francisco to Little Rock for your current project. What is it and how did you come up with the name, House of GG?

The technical name is Griffin-Gracy Historical Retreat and Educational Center, but that’s a lot for people to remember. When I came up, there were houses that developed in New York, like the House of Crystal Labeija and the House of Xtravaganza. They started in order to help the younger girls who were on the street. They helped them learn the things they needed to do to survive, like how to negotiate with the cops and what to do if they got busted. I thought in honor of them and all they’ve done and tried to do, I would keep the thought and feeling of them alive with the House of GG. I want it to be a retreat where I can bring the girls here and help to create a sense of family for our community.

We saw each other about a month and a half ago at the Creating Change conference, when you received the Susan Hyde Award for Longevity in the Movement. I know that was complicated because you talked about the weirdness of having white, cis gay people honoring you in that way after all of these years.

Yeah, these white, over-privileged, entitled, stick-up-their-ass motherfuckers who hate us, nudge each other when they see us, talk about us as we walk by no matter what city we live in. It’s not that all of them are bad. There’s about three out of the thousand that have some sense and respect people for who they are. I had a lot of personal issues over this. I said in my speech, ‘It took 40 years for me to get up here. You motherfuckers are late.’ They want to rant and rave and act like, “Oh this is the thing to do!” Miss Major is not your token. You need a token? Well, go to the subway and buy one and get on a fucking bus. In accepting the award, I wanted to make sure that I stood up for my community and who I am [by letting] them know that they have been doing this shit to me since I was a kid and it hasn’t stopped. The only reason they don’t do it to me now is because I’m an older woman.

Gabriel Olsen/FilmMagic

We are in a moment of visibility like never before. What does that mean to you with the political backdrop of the Trump Administration?

This president wants to eradicate us from the face of the earth. He doesn’t have a belief system and he’s not a politician. When he won this, my worry was that our community would become so fearful of what he may do, that they [might] run blindly into the closet and hide. This is a time that we can’t hide. We need to have our presence known. I don’t want to see trans people on the endangered species list. I’m hoping being out there myself that people will see me going on and believe that we can do this.

There’s a lot of younger organizers and activists coming up now. Do you have any tips for folks doing this work?

We have a right to be angry, but you have to be angry in degrees. You use your anger to come up with ways to dismantle the bullshit that is oppressing you in the first place. There has to be a way to manage this so you accomplish the goals you set out for yourself. It’s not an easy thing, but you must nurture, take care of, and look out for yourself too. If you don’t take the time to heal your wounds and soothe your ills, you can not be of any benefit to anybody else.

What do you do for self-care, Mama Major?

I’m a person that likes music and TV. I liked Big Band Era stuff like [George] Gershwin, Count Basie, Peggy Lee, Martha Washington, Dinah Washington, and Billie Holiday. On days when I’m feeling kind of icky, I’ll curl up with my dog, Moose, and watch TV. We’ve had her since my kidney surgery. If I need a little masculine attention, I’ll go get it.

Were you ever married? Was there a desire for you to have that kind of life?

You know, I did [have that desire] when I was younger. My closest friend at the time was Crystal Labeija. She had the most beautiful wedding and I was one of her bridesmaids. Then, I said that’s what I wanted. Eventually, I thought, “Well, I’m an ex-hooker. One man? I don’t have time for that.” I liked having long, engaging romantic affairs for maybe three to six months [at a time]. Then I would bring somebody else in.

I didn’t realize you and Crystal Labeija were so close. Y’all are both such legends. How did you meet her?

At the time, we didn’t think of each other as legends. We were just young girls out there trying to have a good time. Crystal and I met on 34th and 8th Ave. getting ready to jump into the same car to turn a trick. He made a really sarcastic comment saying, “Well, I want the light skinned girl.” I got pissed the fuck off and so did she. We walked away and went to eat at Dunkin’ Donuts.

After all is said and done, what do want your legacy to be?

I would want my legacy to be: If it ain’t right, fucking fix it, whatever it takes. I’d want to be remembered for trying to do the right thing and care for all people. We’re all part of one another. I would want people to understand who we are as human beings. I want us to look at the similarities more than the differences.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Raquel Willis is a Black queer transgender activist and writer dedicated to inspiring and elevating marginalized individuals, particularly transgender women of color. She is also a National Organizer for the Transgender Law Center based in Oakland, CA.