She shows up after storms — for those others miss
Jasmine McKenzie has become a first responder for people who rarely feel welcome in official disaster systems. As hurricanes batter the U.S. Southeast, the South Florida organizer and founder of the McKenzie Project loads cars with food, generators, clothes, and medicine and drives toward the storm’s wake. Her Hurricane Response Team — nicknamed the HRT Hub — aims to reach transgender Floridians who can’t safely access shelters or aid. A recent profile by Yale Climate Connections highlights how discrimination and paperwork hurdles compound risk for trans people, and how community care is closing deadly gaps When a hurricane hits, she shows up for those left behind. McKenzie and other advocates argue that the skills trans communities use daily — mutual aid, navigation of bureaucracy, and resource-sharing — are exactly what broader disaster response needs.
In 2021, as a hurricane approached Florida, McKenzie crisscrossed the state delivering supplies to trans residents in hotels and homes. That ad-hoc effort became the HRT Hub, a climate-justice program of The McKenzie Project. The idea is simple: if official channels are unsafe or inaccessible, bring aid directly through trusted networks. Identification rules often become a barrier after disasters; for example, the U.S. Transgender Survey found only a small share of respondents had all IDs reflecting their correct name and gender, making access to shelters, food banks, or benefits harder U.S. Transgender Survey 2015 executive summary. McKenzie’s team also prioritizes refrigerated medications and continuity of care for HIV, diabetes, and cardiovascular conditions when power and clinics are down.
Community leaders interviewed for the Yale Climate Connections story describe a second threat after the wind dies: mental-health fallout as people lose therapists, clinics, and affirming spaces. “Trans people are agents of change,” one researcher said, arguing that the community’s survival strategies can strengthen emergency management for everyone Yale Climate Connections. Practical guidance matters too. Many trans men and nonbinary people rely on chest binders; safety groups advise limiting wear to roughly six to eight hours and taking breaks — advice that’s hard to follow in crowded shelters without privacy Trans Lifeline binder guide.
Examples of grassroots recovery are multiplying. In western North Carolina after Tropical Storm Helene, LGBTQ+ centers and mutual-aid groups organized paperwork clinics, supply hubs, and micro-grants, offering support where formal systems faltered Teen Vogue report on Helene response. Asheville’s Blue Ridge Pride leaned into “resilience and resistance” programming tied to disaster recovery, while the collective Queers for Climate Justice has worked with faith-based allies to route help toward people who feel unsafe in mainstream shelters. In Florida, McKenzie credits seed support from Miami’s The Smile Trust and calls for public and philanthropic funding to scale HRT Hubs statewide. Clergy such as the rector of Holy Trinity Episcopal Church in Rhode Island have also urged affirming congregations to be proactive partners when disasters hit Holy Trinity Episcopal Church leadership page.
McKenzie’s message is blunt: hurricanes and politics may both be hostile, but community will not retreat. “We’re going to be here with or without this political climate,” she says in the profile, “so we want people to understand that there are organizations…making sure trans people have the necessities to thrive and survive before and after any type of natural disaster” Yale Climate Connections.