On Thursday October 1st 2026, I joined the picket in front of New York Presbyterian hospital, nestled between East 68th and East 70th streets, on the furthest avenue East in Manhattan. The picket is part of an ongoing series, organized by ACT UP and Gender Liberation, of protests at various hospitals that have ended their programs for gender-affirming care for minors in New York.
I was sweaty, even in the crisp Fall afternoon, marching, surrounded by people carrying signs displaying messages like “Trans Youth Deserve Trans Futures” and “Trans Lives Are NOT Bargaining Chips.” The swarm of sirens, ambulances, bodies, and chants filled the air. Still, in the brouhaha of the hospital, I saw protestors and organizers care for each other. Off to the side, organizers stood up to cops, trying to keep them as far from the crowd as possible. Elsewhere, another group of organizers and people stood, letting people either grab signs or take a breath.
As people trailed away from the protest, I stood in a circle of other picketers, distributing past issues of Trans Opinions Periodically, the zine series I help curate. This is where I met Auggie (he/they), who moments before, had playfully announced into the megaphone during the picket, “Do you hear how hoarse my voice is getting?”
Despite this, Auggie was still chatting with a seemingly inexhaustible spirit, laughing, chatting, and brainstorming ways to promote the voices of trans youths while still maintaining their safety. Auggie embodied the community care that underscored the picket at New York Presbyterian.
Auggie repeatedly emphasized the importance of community care in our conversation on the phone a few weeks later. I was heartened by the cautious optimism and cheerfulness Auggie expressed as I listened to him speak and coddle his two dogs. This “anti-bullying, pro-trans joy” keeps Auggie in the struggle.
Auggie helped combat the transphobic resolution with Community Education Council District 2 (CECD2). The struggle against the resolution, through various actions and repeated testimonies against the transphobic board, in monthly meetings, was at times exhausting, Auggie recalls. “Everbody wants it to be easy,” he says, a “one-time thing with a demand that is easy to meet. However, standing up to the bullish transphobia that runs so deeply through our culture requires this kind of chronic commitment.” They find the work they do fighting for trans kids “exhausting, but a testament to how good it feels to help others.”
Throughout our conversation, Auggie centers the trans youth that bear the brunt of the harassment from our transphobic culture and government. Like he did in the circle after the picket, he searches for ways to allow trans youth to express themselves, while not being held to the dangers of the public eye. This consideration for balance is a microcosm with the attention with which Auggie regards each part of his organizing from organizing actions to creating spaces for trans youth. “I was a child who did not get to transition,” Auggie recounts. The struggle of that period of his life drives him to be the “dad [he] wants to see in the world.”
“Kids are the most vulnerable in any population,” as Auggie puts it.He goes on saying that “even if they are not trans, tend to be some of our most at risk individuals.” The lack of autonomy minors have over their lives is a distillation of the autonomy the state seeks to strip from all of us. With the situation for trans youth continuing to deteriorate, we must show up for them, and we must be consistent.
As I walked back to the train after the picket at New York Presbyterian, one of the other protestors expressed their nervousness. “I don’t know if enough people will care enough to do anything,” they lamented.
I think back to this moment, now refracted through Auggie’s tenacious, yet measured, optimism. He dreams of a “queer utopia where no one cares about trans people,” a utopia where trans kids and adults alike can choose as they please without attracting the fierce scrutiny of those around them.
This is a marathon not a sprint, as Auggie reminds me. So let’s hit the pavement. The next protest is November 5th at Mount Sinai on the Upper East Side. Where will you be?
Eka Savajol is a transmasc multidisciplinary writer and artist. His work has been supported by the Public Theater, the Celebration Theater, the Lucille Lortel Theatre, and others. You can find out more about him on instagram @ekasavajol or online ekasavajol.com
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