AILSA CHANG, HOST:
In a few weeks, some Americans will celebrate the beginning of Donald Trump's second term. For some others, the next four years will be filled with anxiety over personal safety. A group of people in Minneapolis is helping some neighbors feel more prepared. NPR domestic extremism correspondent Odette Yousef spent some time with them. And a warning to listeners, this story will contain the sound of gunshots.
ODETTE YOUSEF, BYLINE: Near where a police officer killed George Floyd four years ago, Kimmy Hull reaches down and rearranges a painting and a stuffy that had knocked over.
KIMMY HULL: The weather really took a toll.
YOUSEF: There are hundreds of items here left in remembrance. Like many in Minneapolis, Hull refers to the unrest that followed Floyd's murder as the uprising.
HULL: The PD and state and everybody was like, oh, Minneapolis is rioting. You know, they're setting on fire. And it's just like, no, dude. We're just sick of your [expletive]. We are rising up to make a stand, you know?
YOUSEF: It started with protests. But soon, Proud Boys and white nationalist biker gangs were terrorizing the neighborhood. And police abandoned the 3rd Precinct. Locals were on their own for safety.
HULL: A lot of people, and especially coming out of the marginalized communities, were looking to get firearms.
YOUSEF: At the time, Hull had stopped working as a private security guard. She had launched her own for-profit company called Sequeerity. It worked with LGBTQ and communities of color. She said her communities were struggling to find a culturally sensitive entry to the world of guns, so she became a certified instructor. Hull says the demand for training was steady until last month.
HULL: So Wednesday, the day after the election, I literally woke up at, like, 7 o'clock in the morning, opened up my email, and there was over a hundred emails from people asking about our permit-to-carry classes.
YOUSEF: Hull calls herself an introvert, but she's a people person. She connects to folks, even ones who may not understand where a half-Vietnamese daughter of a U.S. veteran, formerly homeless, now sober lesbian may be coming from. Her new students have been telling her why they think now's the time to get trained up.
HULL: At least half of them are like, you know, we thought about getting a gun back, you know, during the uprising and everything. And we just felt like firearms weren't for us. We wanted to sit back and see what happened. And as soon as he got reelected, we decided that - it's not about whether they want one or not. They feel like they have to have one.
YOUSEF: In other words, it's a Donald Trump effect.
HULL: And the scary part about this is that this is Minneapolis, Minnesota. We are one of the safest states for trans communities, and our trans communities are buying guns because they don't feel safe.
YOUSEF: Early in November, two trans women were attacked at a Minneapolis light rail station. This even though Minnesota is a trans refuge state - it protects trans people's rights to medical care and bars discrimination against them. In many other states, it's very different. Trans people are less than 1% of the U.S. population. But in 2023, there was an explosion of state bills to curtail their access to bathrooms, medical care and sports teams. Trump has promised similar policies at a federal level. And anti-trans violence has jumped as well. In Minneapolis, several people told me the trans community is falling back on a long held motto - we keep us safe.
HULL: You can either drop the slide lock...
(SOUNDBITE OF GUN CLICKING)
HULL: ...By your thumb.
JAYCE: OK.
HULL: Or...
(SOUNDBITE OF GUN CLICKING)
HULL: When you rack it like that.
YOUSEF: Fifteen miles south of Minneapolis, Hull does one-on-one firearm training at a gun range. On this day, she's working with a client named Jayce.
JAYCE: You know, with kids in my house, I never really thought I would own a gun or want one in my home.
YOUSEF: Jayce, a former school teacher, is a trans Black man. He asked that NPR use only his first name because of concerns for his safety. He's already completed a four-hour online training with Hull. Now he's learning to handle the weapon safely.
(SOUNDBITE OF GUN FIRING)
HULL: So how does that feel?
JAYCE: Good.
HULL: Good.
YOUSEF: Hull signs off on Jase's qualification for a permit to carry. Outside the range, Jase explains why this feels like the responsible thing to do.
JAYCE: It's been said that there's going to be all of these things that they're going to try to undo, as far as rights for folks. To me, it just feels safer to be able to protect myself. If that kind of rhetoric emboldens people to try to cause harm, it feels safer to be prepared.
YOUSEF: As some states have become increasingly dangerous for LGBTQ people, community defense networks have emerged. Volunteers coordinate to protect people at Pride and drag events. But often they like to remain anonymous, and there's no data on how many have formed. What makes Hull and Sequeerity unusual is how public-facing they've been and Hull's unapologetic embrace of practical solutions that protect her communities.
HULL: When Roe v. Wade got overturned and there was an abortion rally, a pro-abortion rally happening - and we had, like, all these people showed up. And the first thing that happened is the Proud Boys showed up. And, see, the thing is you can carry a firearm to the Capitol.
YOUSEF: This was in July of 2022.
HULL: We had to form a circle around the Proud Boys to keep the crowd from hitting them or kicking them or doing anything like that.
YOUSEF: Reports estimate a crowd of 3,000 to 5,000 people.
HULL: You know, because we're also like, these guys have guns, you know? I mean, this is what we - you want us to deescalate the situation, and this is the only way that we can deescalate.
UNIDENTIFIED PERSON # 1: All right. Good morning. Thank you so much for being here.
YOUSEF: More recently, Sequeerity was back at the state Capitol for more deescalation work. A press conference was starting. It concerned a landmark hearing that had just been held before Minnesota's Supreme Court.
UNIDENTIFIED PERSON # 1: The case of Cooper v. USA Powerlifting presents a historic opportunity.
YOUSEF: The case involves a trans athlete who was barred from women's powerlifting events. Sam Koshiol-Wright is Hull's second-in-command. She and two other Sequeerity contractors were hired by the athlete's lawyers to be on hand just in case. They're dressed casually, black jeans and a black hoodie with Sequeerity written on it. They never carry firearms, but Koshiol-Wright does carry a cross-body bag.
SAM KOSHIOL-WRIGHT: I've got gum, Uncrustables.
(SOUNDBITE OF PLASTIC RUSTLING)
KOSHIOL-WRIGHT: This is my favorite fidget toy. If somebody's lightheaded or feeling a little faint, I'll - usually I'll offer water.
YOUSEF: Koshiol-Wright says these simple tools and just talking with people almost always diffuses tense situations. But when deescalation doesn't work, Sequeerity notifies security services. Kimmy Hull knows that coordinating with law enforcement may put some people off, but she says she has to be realistic.
HULL: There's no functioning society that doesn't have an enforcement group of some sort.
YOUSEF: The Minneapolis Police Department did not respond to an NPR request. And clicking a link on the department's website to a, quote, "LGBTQIA liaison" leads to a 404 error page. Hull says in Minneapolis, her communities know she's there for them, and she'll continue to be in the next four years. Odette Yousef, NPR News.
CHANG: This story was made possible in part by the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting.
(SOUNDBITE OF ARI LENNOX SONG, "GET CLOSE") Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
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