After state lawmakers passed historic legislation that removed gender identity from the Iowa Civil Rights Act, Jo Allen, 27, and his partner, Oliver Rowling, 25, started planning to move somewhere that felt safer.
Rowling said it was scary not knowing what life would be like in Iowa without gender identity anti-discrimination protections in the five areas protected by state civil rights code: housing, employment, education, public accommodations and credit practices.
“The thought of being in an interview and not knowing if our rights are being protected, or even if we could have our chosen name be respected in the workplace, or pronouns being respected in the workplace — kind of just the bare minimum, being respected,” said Rowling. “But at the same time, you could be fired for being trans.”
Like many people in their 20s, Allen and Rowling thought about moving out of their hometown and state, but Allen said it became more of a consideration in the past year.
“I was experiencing a lot more targeted hate,” he said. “It doesn't matter if I'm trans, because even if you take the trans away, I'm still colored.”
The last straw for the couple was when state lawmakers voted to remove gender identity protections from the state code in February 2025, which has had ripple effects for people trying to access gender-affirming care or applying for state identifying documents.
Shortly after the bill was signed into law, Allen and Rowling made plans to move to Denver.
“The decision shifted from wanting to leave to needing to leave,” Rowling said.
By the fall, the couple had packed up their things and moved more than 600 miles away to start a new life. Allen said the law was a breaking point, following years of “hostile” bills toward trans people.
“I will no longer continue to be in a state that is not going to respect who I am,” Allen added.
'Breaking points’: Trans people seeking safety
Although there’s no official data tracking how many people have left Iowa because of the civil rights law change, LGBTQ rights organizations like One Iowa are seeing people leave. Executive Director Max Mowitz said most people leaving are young adults or families with transgender members.
“Folks want to get out because of the civil rights removal act," Mowitz said. “A lot of folks that are leaving are also, again, folks of color that already experience a lot of racism in Iowa.”
People who have reached out to One Iowa for guidance on moving out of state are mostly relocating to Minnesota, Colorado and Illinois, according to Mowitz.
Those Democratic-led states have transgender shield laws that codify gender-affirming care, among other protective polices.
LGBTQ rights nonprofits One Colorado and OutFront Minnesota said they have noticed more Iowans asking about moving or actually moving there since Iowa changed its civil rights law.
“This is a climate where we're seeing more people hitting those breaking points,” said Kat Rohn, executive director of OutFront Minnesota.
The organization recently added a volunteer position to answer calls and emails from people who are looking to relocate there.
Rohn said each person’s situation is unique, but she has seen more people move to Minnesota for transgender legal protections.
“This is a time where folks feel like ‘I literally will not have access to care, that I need to stay alive, or my civil rights will no longer be seen and respected by my state, in a way that is making me really rethink my decisions,’” she said.
Those decisions are being seen across the nation, according to the Movement Advancement Project. In a survey of over 1,000 LGBTQ adults, 25% of respondents said they had considered moving to a different state since November 2024, when President Donald Trump was reelected. Forty-three percent of transgender respondents considered moving, and 9% report they have followed through.
Starting over somewhere new
It’s not as simple as leaving Iowa and living worry-free. Rohn said OutFront Minnesota has guided people from over 20 states who have relocated there in the past several years.
“What we always tell folks is make thoughtful choices. These are huge decisions in your life,” she said. “We cannot promise you that Minnesota is going to be perfect, but we can promise you that there are a lot of people working to make this a welcoming state.”
Rowling and Allen said moving to Colorado was not a quick and easy decision for them.
“No matter where you go, racism and transphobia and ugly, nasty people are going to follow you anywhere, because hatred is very much alive,” Allen said. “But at the end of the day, I still feel like I can move around here safer.”
Aside from some family members, Allen and Rowling didn’t know many people in Denver when they moved. The couple said it was challenging but exciting to navigate a rough job market and make new friends.
“That has kind of been the cool thing about creating community here is we've met a lot of queer people, but we're also finding queer-affirming jobs,” Rowling said.
But there are still moments where they both get homesick.
“We left a lot of love behind,” Allen said.
“Leaving when we did, I think is going to help us appreciate the state later. I think being there longer was going to almost really make us hate that place, and I don’t hate Iowa, and I don’t want to,” Rowling said, adding that they see themself retiring in Iowa.
Allen and Rowling said it was hard to leave the state at a time when advocacy for transgender rights is critical, but they said they have hope in the people still in Iowa supporting trans people.
Mowitz, with One Iowa, said he understands why people are leaving Iowa, however, he also calls on to those who are still in the state to advocate for trans rights.
“If everybody leaves, who's going to be there to not only support the most marginalized trans folks, but every trans person born in the state moving forward?” Mowitz said.
He said he's noticed more people involved in organizing and advocacy since Iowa's law went into effect last summer.
A queer-centered social dinner
In Des Moines, a monthly potluck dinner was created in May of 2025 to bring together LGBTQ Iowans.
At one dinner in September, people did crafts and played games at an old Lutheran church downtown. Feed DSM organizers said everyone is welcome to come have a meal and bring a dish for the potluck.
Cora Nowlin sat on the floor and played a rug-sized version of the board game Sorry! with new friends.
“I feel like I can have 'mask off,' I can be honest, I can be secure, very safe here. I don’t have a single worry while I am in this space,” she said.
For her, that’s typically not the case. Nowlin said she worries about her personal safety living in Iowa, as well as finding a job as an out trans woman because state law no longer protects transgender Iowans from discrimination in employment.
“I’ve wanted to leave, honestly, and go home to Michigan, but financially I can’t afford it,” Nowlin said. “I don’t know where I’d go in Michigan. My family and I are not on good terms since I transitioned.”
She said that going to the Feed DSM dinners have been a blessing for her because she has a community she can rely on.
“It does make it easier to stay in Iowa, knowing I have people who have my back and knowing I have theirs," Nowlin said. "That’s really important to me right now.”
Amber Lynch, who co-founded Feed DSM last May, said she’s happy that people are finding joy and making connections at the monthly dinner.
Lynch met the group's other co-founders while protesting for trans rights at the state Capitol last year. After lawmakers passed the law to remove gender identity protections from state code, Lynch said there was a need for an LGBTQ-centered social space that’s free, sober and not focused on treatment or therapy.
“No matter what bad stuff happens, a lot of that can be alleviated with strong community,” said Lynch.
According to a survey of over 1,000 LGBTQ adults, 21% reported joining LGBTQ community activities in response to shifting politics or laws since November 2024.
During the Feed DSM dinners, Lynch makes an effort to have people socialize by making introductions and talking to everyone.
“I feel like, especially now with how everything is, and the United States, it's pretty easy to despair,” Lynch said.
Feed DSM relies on volunteers who take pride in helping out and who feel the inclusive space is needed. One volunteer, Gaia Kopsas-Getting, said it was a struggle to find friends in Des Moines.
“This is something I’ve always wanted to try to build, but never had the actual resources or connections to do something like this,” Kopsas-Getting said, while serving food in the church kitchen.
A lot of people who came to the dinner felt fearful of increasing anti-LGBTQ policies at the federal and state level. Alex Pines, who is also one of the co-founders, said they would be lonelier without Feed DSM.
“Frankly, a lot of us who organize here and a lot of people who show up to this are pretty heavily introverted on top of being afraid of things escalating in the outside world right now,” they said. “It can be really hard for people like that, in particular, to find any type of support.”
Pines said empathy is at the core of the dinner. While people create space for other’s hardships, they also feel relief for their own. Pines said it’s easy to feel emotional about that.
“My interpersonal goal since the jump of this has been to create a space that I would’ve needed when I was younger, and I guess, in a way I’m also creating a space that I need now as an adult,” they said.
A year after Republican state lawmakers removed gender identity from the Iowa Civil Rights Act, legislators are considering more bills targeting LGBTQ individuals.
Trans Iowans who are still in the state, whether by choice or circumstance, are left to navigate how to feel safe and continue fighting for their rights.
