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Lizette Trujillo watches her son Daniel at the steps of the Supreme Court, pride radiating from behind her large sunglasses.

Daniel, 15, is almost done with the prom he helped organize. Trujillo smiles at how well his tailored white shirt, now untucked, and black slacks fit — not something one can take for granted on his small frame. Signs of fatigue are showing on the teen’s face after an afternoon full of dancing in the sun, snapping photos with friends and taking interviews from national news outlets.

As a trans boy living in Arizona, Daniel has been addressing strangers with microphones — state representatives, mostly — since he was 9 years old. But this afternoon, he is not defending his ability to use a boy’s bathroom or access health care or be addressed by the right pronouns. On this warm Monday in May, Daniel got to talk about prom, one organized by trans kids, for trans kids.

Marvin Joseph

“As a mom, all you ever want is for your kid to feel proud of who they are. And he does,” Trujillo said. “It’s just been such a hard five years.”

The<b> </b>Trans Youth Prom’s steering committee, made up of Daniel, 13-year-old Libby Gonzalez and 12-year-old Grayson McFerrin-Hogan of Texas, and 16-year-old Hobbes Chukumba of New Jersey, alongside noted trans activists, wanted a celebration that linked arms with the gay rights movement’s storied past. So, for trans prom, they took some cues from the ’70s.

Signs declaring “Trans kids have always existed” and “Celebrate trans joy” were printed in the distinct bubble lettering of the decade. Chic’s “Good Times” blasted as trans kids from across the country — some as young as 5 — arrived next to the Capitol Reflecting Pool around noon, where they were greeted with cheers from their families and trans elders. On the makeshift dance floor’s margins, iridescent streamers and a screen of gold paillettes the size of macarons served as backdrops for attendees to strike their fiercest poses.

There were purple Doc Martens and delicate tiaras; fairy wings and parasols; sundresses and chiffon and sparkly bow ties and hoop skirts as plump and cheerful as cupcakes. At the center of it all, North Carolina drag artist and prom emcee Stormie Daie twirled among the kids, reminding the crowd how a bamboo fan can transform from prop to percussive instrument when unfurled by the right hands.

Since middle school, the Trujillos have tried, for the sake of their own sanity, to normalize the disruptive process of petitioning the government for their rights. On the two- to three-hour drives from the Trujillos’ house in Tucson to the Capitol in Phoenix, mother and son established a practice of “musical journeys” as they prepare their testimonies against anti-trans bills.

On the way down, they play mom’s choices; she “has the coolest music taste,” Daniel said: Rage Against the Machine; Tyler, the Creator; Taylor Swift; Marvin Gaye. While the music plays on the car speakers, they practice their talking points for the legislature.

“One of my main things I try to say, like, I tell people I’m just a kid,” Daniel said. “I should be at lunch right now.”

Lately, though, those testimonies against anti-trans bills have felt like pleading with a wall. “It’s like they already have their ideas set in stone,” Daniel said. After those deflating sessions, the Trujillos play Daniel’s favorite band, Radiohead, to lift his spirits. The “Kid A” album, every time, no skips. It kind of works: “The whole time I’m yakking about why Radiohead deserved a musical and not Green Day.”

But the frustration of feeling continuously debated lingers long after the car doors slam shut and the overnight bags are unpacked. Daniel and other teenage advocates wanted a different kind of proof that they were loved, that they were supported, that their lives were more than just political debates. So, in February they decided to throw a prom for trans kids.

It would be a model for what life could look like, a safe and affirming and loving space “where trans youth can just be kids and go to a dance and have fun and drink fruit punch and dance to, like, David Bowie,” Daniel said. He was convinced that it was the kind of medicine he and other kids needed.

“With just one really joyous, amazing event, I know that the rest of my life can be just as joyous as it was on one day.”

At any prom, you’ll find people huddled in circles with their friends and dancing, while other stay on the sidelines. This outdoor prom was no different, with attendees seeking shade from the midday sun, posing for pictures with friends, hyping up one another’s outfits and cooling off with water and Popsicles.

Nico Field, 12, bounced back and forth between these posts, gathering their poofy, floral skirt in their hands. On top, Nico wore a velvet vest with long, slender coattails and rainbows stitched to the insides. And that was just the California preteen’s first prom outfit.<b> </b>(For the planned march from the Mall to the Supreme Court, Nico changed into a soft mauve number, complete with butterflies running up the length of their stockings.) Mother Marie Field said attempts to stuff the stylish ensembles into two carry-ons were unsuccessful. They needed to check a bag.

“It’s kind of fun to dance with,” Nico said. “And I think it represents me a lot ’cause I’m trans masc, but I like to present very androgynously.”

Unlike the proms held in school gyms and hotel ballrooms across the country, this event featured organizers and advocates who combined words of affirmation and praise with the language of battle. “We are still in a war,” one speaker reminded the crowd.

In the shade with her mom was Landon Brown, a 17-year-old from Mississippi who <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/national/2023/05/20/transgender-student-mississippi-graduation/28f14e4a-f720-11ed-918d-012572d64930_story.html" target=_blank>missed her high school graduation</a> after her principal told her she could attend only if she wore the slacks and dress shirt specifically designated for boys, instead of the white dress she had planned on. Brown ended up not going. She would not go to an event that did not support her.

At trans prom, that was not an issue. She dolled herself and her mother up that morning, blending blue and gold eye makeup over a thicket of lashes. Then, in the afternoon, Brown delivered the first speech of her life, the U.S. Capitol to her back, the Washington Monument in front, while wearing the same shimmery dark blue dress she had worn to her junior prom.

“I wanted to wear it again to make sure that I was seen in it and supported by the ones around me,” she said.

For the trans adults in the crowd, prom stirred up visions of the past and future. Melding riotous joy and serious political expression has long been a hallmark of the movement for LGBTQ liberation, and trans prom represented another chapter of this tradition.

Several remembered their proms as a source of consternation or indifference, a reminder of all the ways they did not fit into a heteronormative world.

“All of these markers of childhood and adolescence are really painful ones in retrospect,” said ACLU lawyer Chase Strangio, who served as a mentor and guide to the young organizers. The grand backdrop of this prom — the Supreme Court, the National Mall — didn’t inspire awe in him, not when a mere month ago the U.S. House passed a sports bill that would ban trans students from participating in women’s and girl’s sports.

“These buildings represent violence and genocide in so many ways,” Strangio said. But by gathering in all their splendor next to these halls of power, the children of trans prom were building “a new future, with a set of new demands.”

The prom confirmed to activist Raquel Willis that she was firmly in her “auntie era,” as people in the crowd thanked her for her activism — and for simply being herself. How wild, she thought, after years of looking up to figures such as Laverne Cox and Janet Mock, to be the one inspiring a new generation of activists. But how beautiful it also was to have this moment with trans kids, where their collective joy was the day’s victory.

“They didn’t have to prove anything else. They didn’t have to tell us who they were. They didn’t have to do anything extra. They just had to show up.”

University of North Carolina at Wilmington, BFA, Creative Writing

University of Southern California, MS, Journalism

Anne Branigin is a staff reporter in Style covering breaking news and writing feature stories. Previously, she worked at the Root covering news, politics, health and social justice movements through the lens of race and gender.

Anne Branigin

Young activists gathered in D.C. for a Trans Youth Prom near the Capitol

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Trans Youth Prom In The Nations Capitol

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Photographs by Marvin Joseph/The Washington Post

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At trans prom, joy is a political statement

Kids from around the country converged on the U.S. Capitol to dance, celebrate and uplift one another