But We Loved is a production of iHeart Podcasts and The Outspoken podcast Network. Last week on but We Loved.
You getting good jobs being a transgender person, they wouldn't hire you. You had no choice. It was survival. That's why it's called survival's head. When you're coming off the high and you realize what you did, that's when the shame and the guilt started to set in for me. And I used to say things like I feel spiritually bankrult, like I have nothing else.
As a gay kid, growing up religious and in the South, I thought being gay was the worst thing I could ever be. Now, as a journalist, I'm trying to unlearn that by seeking out our history, and what I've found are people in stories full of courage, perseverance and love. And this week's episode, part two of my interview with Tabitha Gonzalez, a trans woman who used sex work to survive, we'll learn how working on the stroll led her into violence and incarceration, and how years later her life would
come full circle in a way she never expected. From My Heart Podcast, I'm Jordan Gonsolves and this is what We Loved. In last week's episode, we met Tabitha and Zalas she explained how she got pushed into sex work as a trans woman. The Stroll was the area of New York where she and many other trans women did sex work. Almost twenty percent of all transgender adults in America have engaged in sex work. For black transgender women like Tabitha, that number jumps to forty percent. And sex
work is a really dangerous job. By twenty one, Tabitha had already lived through life threatening encounters with clients. She had already lost friends to violence and to aids. Her mental health was in peril, and she was battling an addiction to crack cocaine. She was starting to feel lost in what she calls a vicious cycle of addiction.
I started to feel like I had nothing else to get, Like I was just tired. I was tired of laying down with people and having sex with people. And I felt like so bankrupt, like I had nothing, Like I felt like I lost my spirituality, I lost my faith, like I had just given up. I started to look back over my life and I'm like, I'm sitting on a fucking street corner when I could be home with
my family. You know what, I'm saying, like I started to feel that shit when my feet is hurting, you know, or I just got a scuffle and I, you know, to fight my way out of something. I would feel fucked up, like what am I doing? Like what am I doing? And that would only make me use more drugs, right because I don't like what I'm feeling, So I would make more drugs, and I gotta get more drugs, so I gotta get more money. So it was just
like sex, drugs and rock and roll. It was just like this never ending album playing in this vicious cycle that people call addiction. Until I met Flocco, and then Flocco changed my life.
In nineteen ninety five, Tabitha was at the height of her addiction. As she put it, her days had become an album on repeat, getting high, doing sex, work all night, just to afford a hotel room for a single day, waking up and starting the album all over again. But Tabitha couldn't keep up with the music anymore. This life was exhausting. One day, she met someone who would change
the course of her life. His name was Flocco. He was originally a client of hers, but there was something about him that made her want more than just a client relationship.
Flaco was this guy that I met I'll never forget. It was raining and I was smoking and he came by. He had these pit bulls and I was so afraid. I was like, oh my god. He was doing a drop off because he drugs. And we were talking and he was like, you're pretty. And we were talking and I was like, have you ever tried it? And if you don't like it, I'll stop, and blah blah blah
blah blah. And I was like, just try it, and he did and he paid me and he gave me drugs and we did that a few times and then I think like he kind of knew that I liked him and stuff. And eventually one day we were talking and he was like, I want you to stop. I'll take care of you if you stop, and I did for a while. I ended up not using, but selling, which ultimately sent me to prison.
Oh so that's what you mean about Flocko changing your life, Like you stop being a sex worker, you stop doing the drugs, but now you're selling the drugs and that has its own consequences. Yeah, what drugs would you sell?
Crack?
Although Tabitha had stopped using drugs and stopped doing sex work, she still needed money to survive. This was the mid nineties in New York City and it was rare that employers hired trans women in conventional office jobs, so this time she turned to drug dealing. The money was better, but the consequences of getting arrested as a drug dealer were way worse than getting arrested as a sex worker,
and Tabitha got caught selling again and again. At first, she'd go to New York City's infamous jail Rikers Island, but she'd always come out and go back to the dealing work that she knew would pay the bills. But after several run ins with the law, she was eventually sent to prison at bare Hill Correctional Facility. Her original sentence was four and a half to nine years, but she would end up serving sixteen because of in jail offenses.
Getting incarcerated as a trans woman was terrifying for Tabitha. She was sent to a men's prison, and she knew she would be treated horribly. According to Tabitha, there was a hierarchy in prison, and queer people were to the bottom of that. Totem Pole.
Ninety seven A seven six two four. That was my state number. I remember it like my name, because that's all we were was a number. It was ninety seven A seven six two four. And I remember like the whole freaking journey of going up there and everyone's telling me they're gonna take your hair off, You're gonna cut your hair, you gotta do, And it dawned on me, you're going to prison, Like it's no more skid bit on the Rikers Island than coming home. You're going upstate.
The judge was not looking at your case like this is someone who's clearly trying to survive. They were seeing you as a criminal.
Of course. Yeah, and they sentenced me. I remember my lawyer telling me, you're gonna go away for a long long time. And I took the four and a half to night years, and that's how I started to become the monster that I did and ended up getting more time in prison.
You were becoming more violent in prison, Yeah, I was already violent, So it didn't take a lot.
It took fear, the same fear that I thought that I needed to instill in others like I had that fear, and I think a lot of us share the same experiments, our first violence and the first time we get assaulted or have to defend ourselves as writing our own neighborhoods by people who look and sound just like us, who told us that we were different. You see, So you have to defend yourself. Everyone says bullied, but we were being bullied because of who we are, just because of
our existence. You wanted to beat me up, and you wasn't going to do that. I learned to fight. I learned to defend myself. I felt like, if you were afraid of me, you would not harm me. So I had to give you the fear first so I could feel safe. And for so long I lived like that. And when I was in prison, you definitely he wasn't gonna do nothing to me in there. You know, you was not gonna touch me in any inappropriate way. You know.
I knew where I was at on the Richter scale in prison, like being queer, gay or trans or anything like that is a step above someone who's a pedophile or a rapo, you know. And I became more fearful, and that's when I started to like we were chopping wood up there, So I got a saw blade and I broke it and I was sharpened one side and that's what I used to carry around to protect myself.
So you had basically become violent, and that was what added up the charges.
I went to the box for, like I would say, two marks twenty four hour lockdown, not two years consecutively, but throughout the whole time, throughout my whole bed. There were periods when I was in the fight and I stabbed someone to cut someone and I had beat this person up really bad. I didn't think, like I didn't think they were going to say anything because they didn't want to call me out to fight, and they eventually did.
And I remember getting woke up in the middle of the night and them shipping me off to a box. And that was my first experience with the box, and I was like, what the fuck, Like what's going on? Like why am I here? When you experience these things, they stay with you, Like now I could scan the whole bomb and I know you see, and there was a safety thing trying to make sure I'm safe in my surroundings.
When we come back. Tabitha leaves prison after sixteen years and returns to a stroll that she doesn't recognize it's twenty thirteen. Tabitha has spent an agonizing sixteen years in prison, and the world had completely changed. She left in nineteen ninety seven and got out in twenty thirteen. She got off the bus from prison. The New York City she came back to had been transformed by nine to eleven,
by technology and by gentrification. She was free, but she still needed money, so she went to the place she knew she could always turn to, the stroll. So now tell me a little bit about when you got out of jail. What was that like leaving prison and then coming back.
To It was nervous. I was excited and nervous, right, I was finally fucking coming home. I lost my mom in jail everything, so, you know, and I just wanted to be home. And I got out. I started to see people talking in their phones, because when I got locked up, we had beepers.
Wow, this is a different world, a.
Whole different world. I'm like, Wow, people are just like blah blah blah blah blah. And I'm like, oh oh, and I'm like so fascinating. And I'm seeing all these like motor rollers and all these new phones and I'm like, oh, okay, so people could do that now, you know. And nia once I got off in forty second feet, I went and got me. It's a weak story. It's still there today. And I remember going to there and I got my Juliet wing and I was so happy because they still
had it. I remember walking in. I had like this beige uniform, one that they give you when you're coming home, and I took it off and I tied it around my waist and I went the store and I got my hair, and I went and got these cheap sneakers because I thought they was cute. And I put the sneakers on and I was walking around Midtown and everything was different.
Were you wanting to do sex work when you got out of prison? Yeah?
Like, That's why I went back to the strow for right, because I'm like, well, fuck it, I'm gonna make money, right.
But the stroll had changed. There were no more sex workers there anymore. The grungey queer clubs were out, and the high end designer stores like Mosquino and lou Baton were in. Tabitha was bewildered at how different New York City had become and what was it like seeing the stroll?
After it was fucking crazy, like everybody was gone, there was no money, There was not really a stroll. I was out there for like walking, trying, and I kept noticing that it wasn't the girls out there. They were like these little fancy stores and the high line was being built like all this new shit. I remember Diane, if you know, I don't know if she's allowed for Diane used to drive around in the car and she used to sell crack. I remember I saw Diane. I
was like, hey, girl, what's out there? Dah da dah what the girl said? She was like, girl, ain't nobody out here no more? She was like, they got a support group of the block. I was like, okay, I'm gonna go there.
You were going to the support group not to get support, but to meet your old friends.
Just to see where they was at. And they had this group and I was meeting all these girls and I was talking about like, you know, how there's no more money, and it was really a great support. We would talk about really good shit, you know.
The support group Tabitha went to was called Destination Tomorrow. It was a group specifically designed to empower transgender women by providing them housing help and job readiness training. She was shocked to see so many of the women that she had worked with on the stroll getting help from the program. In her experience, trans women had to take care of themselves. But she realized that not only had the world around her changed since she got out of prison,
but her own world had changed too. In fact, one of the women she used to work with on the stroll, a woman named Egypt, was leading the support group.
I think I kind of knew what support was, but I've always felt it. But I was still like I call it frozen time, Like I was still coming back home back in nineteen ninety seven, but so many things had changed. And I remember like going in and meeting Egypt. She was running group at that time. So this is not the same girl I saw on the strow. You see what I'm saying.
She was working at the support group.
Yeah, she wasn't on the strow. She was running the group.
Wow. So in your mind you're like.
I'm like, wow, the girls are working, you know. So it was like, oh, okay, oh, things have really changed, you know.
Once Tabitha settled into the support group, a new chapter of her life began. She was placed in a shelter and she began making money as a street sweeper. It wasn't as much money as she made doing sex work or selling drugs, but she felt dignified. She didn't have to force her body into having unwanted sex anymore in order to survive.
So once I started to join a support group and I was working for the Dough Fund at that time. What is the dough Fund is like for like those who are homeless, and you clean the streets and stuff like that, and.
You were getting paid for them.
The street sweepers, you see them, they get paid for that.
Was it nice for you to be making money?
Yeah? I felt like I was making the difference in my life. Like although I was cleaning the streets, I had a job, Like I had a paycheck with my name on it, you know, Like I was making money and things were different, and I was trans like I was showing up.
So you were on the streets now, but in a different way. Tabitha was thriving. She wasn't making a lot of money, but she was happy, and her caseworker from her support group began to take notice of her intellect and her leadership. After serving time in jail for being a sex worker and a drug dealer, she had a lot of knowledge about the law and how it affected
transgender people who were simply just trying to survive. So her caseworker recommended that she apply for a role at the Transgender Legal Defense Fund, a nonprofit dedicated to advocating for trans people through the law.
Jullian Weiss was still my sister to this day, and she was the executive director. She hired me the first day. I was brutally honest with her when I met her, and she started to cry doing an interview, said oh no, when can't you start? And I was like, I can start next week. And next week I was there in my own office, and I was like, this is what I always wanted, like to be seen in the world where I can work and I could live a life
for me. And she was telling me go to the library, we get this free train and go here, and she was paying for me to go get trainings and develop me. And I started to develop and develop, and thus began my journey to activism. And I started to just tell my story because people will be like, God, you got a fucking story. You gotta tell your story is going to inspire so many I was like, girl, what.
Tabitha now had a good paying job, doing work that felt meaningful to her. There was a moment when she realized that she had completely turned her life around. She was no longer doing sex work to pay the bills or getting high to numb her reality. In twenty twenty two, Tabitha was approached by one of the women she used to work with on the Stroll, Kristin Lovel, who is now a filmmaker. Kristin was making a documentary about the Stroll for HBO and wanted Tabitha to tell her story.
Tabitha began realizing the power of her own voice.
Now. I remember when I met Christian she asked me to do the Stroll, and they made me feel like my story was important because I was a part of that history. And as I told my story, it was like piece is falling off of the trauma that I held in, like all of that started to fall off.
Tabitha's profile as a fierce advocate for trans rights was beginning to grow in New York City, and an opportunity arose to join the New York City Commission on Human Rights. The Commission investigates and prosecutes a legal discrimination throughout the city. But taking the job and working for the City of New York wasn't an easy decision for her. She had
an ethical dilemma. After all, this was It's the same city that sent her to men's correctional facilities over and over again, and that put her in the position of having to do the illegal work in the first place. But she wanted to help end the cycle of violence and incarceration for other women like her, so she took the job once pushed into sex work because she wouldn't get hired anywhere else. Tabitha was now working toward ending
transgender discrimination in the workplace. Now tell me how you then got involved with the Commission on Human Rights.
I got the job at Commission, took me about two three months to get hired, and then like about eight months in they had to like fall all this paperwork, sign all these things because now I'm working for the city, but I also have a criminal history, and it was re traumatizing me having to explain to them that this is my past because of who I couldn't be who I was, Like, do y'all get this y'all asking me these invasive questions just so I can live a fucking life.
And I said it just like that, and you know, they was like, we're sorry, you know you have to do this. This is just protocol. And I'm going on, like I be almost two years now working there for commissions. So now I work for the same city that helped me captive for fourteen years to make sure that no other trans person have to stuffer that same fate, because I truly believe that education and outreach are instrumental tools and the determined to discrimination that we face.
According to many queer organizations, the average lifespan of a black trans woman is thirty five years old. Tabitha is now fifty, and she's aware that not all of her sisters from the stroll got to make it to her age. Many died of AIDS related complications, others died of substance abuse, and some were even murdered. Every now and again, she goes back to the stroll to remember where she came from,
and she thinks of them when she goes back. So when you go back to the stroll, now, what goes through your mind?
Sometimes? The sadness when I think about when I think about the girls who were out there, Like I wonder what would Melissa be doing today? Like what would Joseph be doing today?
These are women that were killed.
Yeah, I were killed or died from however, you know, substance use or HIV or whatever. Right, I wasn't here, but I know they're no longer with us, and I feel like I owe it to them, you know, I feel like I should tell this story and I dropped their names because they can't and the system cheated us
out of a life that we deserve. I'll be fifty in a couple of weeks, right, And to think about that, like the life expectancy of black trans women is thirty five, so I would be half a century, you know, God willing in a couple of weeks, you know, And just that remind I'm like you and know, do you've seen things that other people relatively speaking? Right, it's just weird, like how my life changed.
So sitting here hearing you talk about how you have become the woman that you dreamed of when you were a girl working the stroll, selling the drugs, doing the drugs. Now you're on the other side of that. What would you if you had the chance. What would you say to that young woman?
Oh, you're going to be the shit when you get older. I would just sorry to not give up. And I would say to myself, like I would say to your listeners, remember that you are loved, you are valued, and your life matters. Whatever you're experiencing now, don't give up. Whatever you see for yourself, go after it. Your path and your trauma does not define who you are.
The show is called but We Loved? What does that mean to you? Wow?
But we loved that in spite of people who didn't love us, we've learned to love ourselves. So therefore we can give love to others and help heal people from the love that they don't receive. But we Loved speaks volumes to our resilience and in spite of life's challenges, we still give love a chance.
But We Loved is hosted by me Jordan Gonsolves. New episodes drop every Wednesday. If you want to write in to tell your story, email us at Buttweloved at gmail dot com, or send us a message on Instagram or TikTok at butt we Loved. We are a production of the Outspoken podcast Network and iHeart podcasts, but We Loved was originally developed with Pushkin Industries. Our producers Areshino Zaki, Michael June, Emily Meronoff, and Joey patt Our. Executive producers
are me My Howard and Katrina Norble. Fact checking by Marisa Brown. Original music by Steve Bone. Special thanks to Jay Bronson and Roquel Willis. If you loved this episode, leave us a rating and follow us on Apple Podcasts and Spotify, and thank you for listening. I'll see you next week.