Tracee McDaniel was a Grand Marshal at the 2015 Atlanta Pride Parade

For over 20 years, Tracee McDaniel has been a permanent fixture in trans activism in Atlanta. With a historic appointment by former Atlanta Mayor Kasim Reed to the Atlanta Citizens Review Board—making her the first trans person to occupy a seat on the Board—McDaniel is now serving her second term on the LGBTQ Advisory Board under Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms while maintaining her role as Founder and Executive Director of Juxtaposed Center for Transformation, Incorporated—an advocacy, consulting, and social services referral organization, specifically designed to empower the trans and gender non-conforming community.

McDaniel says she was aware of her trans identity as a child growing up in Sumter, South Carolina, but didn’t have the language to identify how she felt inside—her emergence as a self-assured and empowered trans woman and activist was anything but certain. Realizing early in her development that there was a difference between gender identity and sexual orientation, McDaniel says she was clear the gay label did not fit.

McDaniel was one of the LGBTQIA+ of color honorees at The 6th Annual Gentlemen's Ball

“Although I didn't know what trans was, I knew I wasn't gay or homosexual,” said McDaniel. “So as I was growing up and I got older, I always knew that I was attracted to boys. It was a challenge between my mother and I—my gender identity. And so she did the best she could. She didn't know. She didn't have the knowledge or the understanding. She was just fearful for me. She knew how society would be.”

McDaniel tells The Reckoning that her mother played a significant role in shaping the woman she would become, often playing multiple roles as parent, loyal supporter, fierce protector, and unknowingly, a source of pain.

“She couldn't understand why I was different. Why I wasn't like my brother and my uncles,” said McDaniel. “And she used to force me to read these Bible verses, Leviticus — condemnation to hell and homosexuality. She tried to scare me straight. But when I read those scriptures, I was like, well, that has nothing to do with me because I'm not this person. I'm not homosexual or gay.”

McDaniel, who says she was always effeminate as a child, realized that her difference was defined as transgender. She knew she could never grow into the fullness of who she was in Sumter, so she took off for Myrtle Beach after high school graduation for a summer job that would mark the beginning of her transition and her first taste of freedom.

“I had to become more comfortable with saying that I’m transgender in public because I figured if I’m going to advocate for somebody, if I’m going to get out there, then I have to be okay with being who I am and saying who I am. ”

— Tracee McDaniel

“My transition was effortless. There was never a time where I came out and told my family I'm transgender,” said McDaniel. “I was always myself. I never had to make that grand statement or anything because everybody knew I was effeminate and I was who I was,” she said.

It was the late 80s, and while McDaniel’s friends returned to Sumter following their summer jobs, she could not muster the strength to return and have all the restrictions imposed upon her that are required of trans and gender non-conforming people whose identity rest outside of expected norms.

“They were homesick,” recalls McDaniel of her friends. “I was like, I'm not going back to Sumter, South Carolina. “I’ve got a taste of freedom and that’s what I’ve always wanted. So I got a Greyhound bus ticket, and I came to ATL.”

Tracee McDaniel with members of the Georgia State House of Representatives Park Cannon (Left) and Renitta Shannon (Right)

‘I have to be okay with being who I am’

McDaniel says she arrived in Atlanta absent a real plan and without knowing a single soul. She relied on the kindness of a taxi driver she met during her first day in the city who dropped her off in Midtown, gave her time to explore, and agreed to pick her up again once she called. It was also during this period that she began exploring Atlanta nightlife and the art of female impersonation, which is how she supported herself during those early days besides her day job as a fast-food cashier.

“It was a safe way to make money. I didn't have to go out on the street. I didn't have to prostitute myself. I didn't rob and steal from anybody to make a living,” said McDaniel. “Once I was able to make a living and to take care of myself, I felt empowered.”

But for McDaniel, who had the privilege of living stealth, or being perceived as a cisgender Black woman, it was not enough to feel personally empowered when other trans and gender non-conforming individuals in Atlanta weren’t so fortunate. It was the beginning of decades of public advocacy.

“I started hearing about trans people being denied access to homeless shelters here. So that's how I became more active and more involved,” said McDaniel. “I had to become more comfortable with saying that I'm transgender in public because I figured if I'm going to advocate for somebody, if I'm going to get out there, then I have to be okay with being who I am and saying who I am. So once I made up my mind, I was all in and I've been doing it ever since,” she said.

Show up, Speak out for equality

Over her decades-long career in trans advocacy, McDaniel has never shied away from an opportunity to educate the public on the challenges trans women of color face and to dispel myths around transitioning, which isn’t always represented fairly or accurately by those with platforms.

“What people don't understand is that they feel like all trans people's main goal is to have gender reassignment surgery,” she said. “Not all trans people want surgery, not all trans people want to be on hormones, we're not a monolithic community. We're all different. We all think differently and feel differently, just because one person feels complete with gender reassignment surgery, another person may not and be happy and fulfilled.”

And with the ongoing conversation around trans youth and their ability to claim agency over their bodies and gender identity, McDaniel adds: “Most parents know what their child needs. And if a parent puts their child on [hormone] blockers to keep them from committing suicide, that's their business. That's not your business,” she said.

Trans women of color continue to be murdered at an alarming rate, with 44 deaths occurring in 2020, and 12 deaths so far in 2021, according to the Human Rights Campaign. In many cases, the victim's attackers are Black cisgender heterosexual men with whom they’ve had a prior personal connection.

“Since the first two months of 2017, trans people have been murdered at a rate of almost one per week. So that's a state of emergency,” said McDaniel. “Unfortunately, we have a lot of trans murders due to cis[gender] Black men who are interested in dating us and feel that they have to hide and keep it a secret,” she said. “They do whatever they feel they have to do to keep that secret. It's very tough to know that someone that I could possibly be intimate with could turn around and kill me, and that happens on a regular basis.”

“I honestly believe that our visibility saves lives because if we don’t show up and participate for equity and fairness and human and civil rights for us, nobody else will.”

— Tracee McDaniel

While Georgia’s new hate crime law may not be enough to deter potential perpetrators of violence against the trans community, it is a step in the right direction to seek justice for the victims and their families.

“I’m happy that Georgia finally has a hate crimes bill. I'm also happy that our legislators in Washington are pushing the Equality Act, which will provide further protections for us,” she said.

McDaniel has been the chief organizer of the annual Trans Day of Remembrance Vigil in Atlanta, a role which she recently stepped down from after ten years of organizing the trans community and their allies in honor of the lives lost to anti-trans violence.

With one less initiative on her agenda, McDaniel remains committed to her life’s work and inspiring others to fight for a more fair society that includes a seat at the table for trans people.

“I honestly believe that our visibility saves lives because if we don't show up and participate for equity and fairness and human and civil rights for us, nobody else will.”