This is part two of a two-part series about the Imperial Valley LGBT Resource Center and the broader landscape of support for the valley’s transgender community. Read part one here.
Clarissa Padilla sat at a table at Sobe’s restaurant in El Centro in early February, taking in the moment.
More than a dozen people were gathered around, talking and laughing. It was the inaugural meeting of the Imperial Valley Queer Social Club, one of two new organizations that Padilla had co-founded along with two other local LGBTQ+ rights advocates.
It wasn’t an obvious time for Padilla, an advocate for transgender youth in Imperial County, to be feeling optimistic.
Across the country, the Trump administration and far-right legislators have launched a sweeping effort to restrict the rights of trans people. Federal officials have blocked trans Americans from accessing new passports that match their gender identity, barred them from serving in the military and attempted to eliminate access to gender-affirming care for trans youth.
And it wasn’t an obvious place. The Imperial Valley, a rural border county, has historically not been a welcoming place for trans and LGBTQ+ people.
Not until 2015 did the Valley have an official LGBT center. And that organization has recently been rebranded, while its founder has taken increasingly anti-trans positions. Some advocates also say anti-trans bias fueled the contentious recall of Calexico’s first openly-trans mayor.
But in spite of those high-profile incidents, Padilla and other trans advocates said the valley’s LGBTQ+ community is coming into its own.
As they sat at that table back in February, listening to everyone talk, they felt an energy crackling through the air. It seemed almost like everyone there had been waiting for a gathering like this, where they could feel supported and uplifted.
“It felt like a supernova on the brink,” Padilla said. “People being excited and wanting to help and wanting to be a part of this.”
‘Stuck in the past’
These new groups mark a shift for the Imperial Valley. For decades, this region hasn’t been a welcoming place for LGBTQ+ people.
Some people recalled growing up in small Christian communities where they felt forced to suppress questions about their identities until decades later. Others noted the absence of safe places where queer people could express themselves.
For years, there was only one dedicated organization: the Imperial Valley LGBT Resource Center.
Growing up in Calexico, the county’s second-largest city, Padilla said defying gender roles got them into trouble with their parents. In sixth grade, they began attending public school and started dressing in more masculine clothing.
“My parents immediately threw me back in private school because they wanted me in pleated jumpers,” they said. “It felt like a place that wasn't open, accepting or safe of my queer identity.”
Many said it wasn’t until they moved away from the Imperial Valley that they were able to more freely embrace their identities. For community organizer Raúl Ureña, who also spent her teenage years in Calexico, that moment came when she moved to Santa Cruz for college.
“Seeing so many free people on campus embolden(ed) me to further embrace parts of my gender identity, that I was kind of suppressing or rejecting, in a very fluid way,” Ureña said.
Still, over time, advocates said the region had become somewhat more accepting of the broader LGBTQ+ community. Growing up with access to the internet, Padilla said, has made a big difference for the trans youth they now work with.
“I'm very grateful that there have been so many advancements,” they said. “As long as you can get connected, the chances are you won't feel alone anymore.”
Openly LGBTQ+ people also began winning campaigns for public office. In 2020, Ureña came out as trans after being elected mayor of Calexico. She became the first openly transgender mayor of a California city along the U.S.-Mexico border.
A rising tide
Since the pandemic though, vitriol towards trans people has swelled across the United States. California has not been immune. State data show hate crimes against trans people have more than tripled since 2000, rising to 66 reports in 2023.
Those attacks have touched the Imperial Valley too.
In 2020, Marilyn Cazares, a trans woman, was found dead in Brawley. Cazares’ family called it a hate crime, sparked protests to demand justice for her killing.
The following year, a trans man named Poe Black, was killed in Slab City. Black was one of 45 transgender and gender-nonconforming people killed in the U.S. in 2021 — the deadliest year on record, according to the Human Rights Campaign.
The valley has also seen other high-profile incidents of anti-transgender bias.
In 2023, a Calexico resident stormed a city Pride Flag-raising event, spewing profanities and yelling that then-Mayor Ureña was not a woman. The following year, a recall campaign spearheaded by that same resident ousted Ureña and another progressive colleague from the Calexico City Council.
More recently, KPBS reported, the founder of the Imperial Valley LGBT Resource Center has publicly opposed state laws backed by trans advocates and sought information from organizations considered anti-LGBTQ+ hate groups by the Southern Poverty Law Center.
Then, in December, that resource center changed its name to Donnelly Community Services Center — a move viewed by many other LGBTQ+ advocates as a step away from the cause of trans rights.
For some, those incidents have made it hard to remain in Imperial County.
This past November, Ureña ran for City Council again in an attempt to regain her seat. But after losing that race, the former-mayor left Calexico and moved to San Diego.
“As soon as I lost the second election, I felt like it was very clear that my gender identity in its presentation was an obstacle,” Ureña said. “One knows, as an activist, when they have to choose self-preservation.”
‘Choose joy over suffering’
But in spite of these attacks, trans advocates and their allies remain enduringly hopeful about the future of the Imperial Valley’s queer community — especially because of new organizations like Queer Social Club, and another called queercasa.
The two groups were founded by Padilla and writer and activist Clara Olivas, along with nonprofit program coordinator Joey Espinoza and business consultant Sandra Mejorado.
The founders said the center’s name change was the final push that spurred them to start both organizations. All of them are former employees or board members at the center.
But they said the roots of the decision run deeper than just the recent events. They have long talked about their love for the Imperial Valley and wanting to make it a place where queer people can thrive.
“We all need to have this kind of joy, this kind of space where we just hang out and do stuff for each other,” Olivas said.
Espinoza hopes places like Queer Social Club and queercasa will give more young people a reason to stay.
“It’s really hard to find someone that’s nonbinary that’s my age,” they said. “That’s exactly what we’re trying to change.”
Both organizations are in their early days, and the four founders are still deciding on their long-term plans. Ureña said it was still too soon to say what role they would play for the community. But she said their existence alone gives her hope.
“It’s already a victory that there is a named organization,” she said.
More than a dozen people attended that first Queer Social Club event. They played word search puzzles, shared know-your-rights resources and hung out late into the evening.
Andee Lopez, another trans rights advocate and former employee of the Donnelly Center, said it was an exciting experience just to see so many other trans people in one room.
“When I got to the meeting, I thought I was the only trans person,” Lopez said. “Lo and behold, before I leave, there’s six of us.”
Padilla said the gathering was about choosing joy over suffering.
“That's really what I experienced and I saw,” they said. “The collective joy that we had being together in a shared space – the collective hope that we had for what we can do.”
This is part two of a two-part series about the Imperial Valley LGBT Resource Center and the broader landscape of support for the valley’s transgender community. Read part one here. .
