Amid violent clashes with police over ICE raids, one community is flocking to LA

In downtown LA during the ICE raid protests, drag queen Lil Miss Hot Mess stands defiantly in sequins and feathers, a striking contrast to the celebration and sanctuary found in West Hollywood during Pride month. Source: Supplied / Lil Miss Hot Mess Los Angeles is a sprawling city that has long attracted artists, migrants, activists, and queer folk, searching for a sense of safety and freedom. West Hollywood in the city's north-west, in particular, has stood apart as a cultural and political sanctuary for LGBTIQ+ people for decades. Today, that legacy feels both vital and increasingly complex.
Protests erupted earlier this month in response to Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids targeting undocumented immigrants in LA's Downtown and Latino neighbourhoods, such as Paramount. In the weeks since, clashes with police, the unprecedented deployment of the national guard and growing fear among immigrant communities have created an atmosphere of unrest and uncertainty. But West Hollywood feels worlds apart. While only a few kilometres away from neighbourhoods targeted by ICE, culturally and politically, West Hollywood, or WeHo, functions like its own city.
It's a place with rainbow-painted crosswalks and a long-standing commitment to queer liberation. At a time of mounting social discord in the United States, and in the middle of International Pride Month, West Hollywood continues to draw queer and trans people from across the country, particularly those fleeing conservative states where LGBTIQ+ rights are under attack. For many, this small pocket of LA still offers a sense of safety, joy and belonging.
On a warm evening in mid-May, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills WeHo's One Gallery. It's the anticipated calm before the glitter storm as patrons eagerly await their hosts' grand entrance: The crowd is an eclectic mix of activists, members of the drag community and local politicians, including West Hollywood mayor Chelsea Lee Byers. Mounted on the wall above them are archival photos of drag legends, including a very young RuPaul, Charles Pierce and Jackie Beat. It's the opening reception for It's Where I Belong: 40 Years (and More) of Drag in West Hollywood, a new exhibition hosted by the One Institute, celebrating four decades of drag culture in the city.
The exhibition's curator is drag performer, children's book author, and university professor Lil Miss Hot Mess, who just a few weeks before was publicly labelled a "monster" and a "child predator" by controversial Republican congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene . The remarks came during a hearing in which Greene pushed to defund public broadcasters PBS and NPR, accusing the outlets of acting as "radical left-wing echo chambers" and of "grooming and sexualising children". Lil Miss Hot Mess tells SBS News she isn't surprised by the remarks. "The unfortunate irony of Greene's political bullying is that while she claims to promote liberty, in reality, she just wants to tell us all what to think and do. That's not freedom, that's fascism," she says.
When people say we don't want to have drag, guess what they're gonna get? More drag. The exhibition offers a vivid reminder that West Hollywood has long served as both a creative epicentre and a sanctuary for queer communities. Yet, for many who now call WeHo home, that sense of refuge extends beyond art and performance. Increasingly, queer and trans folks are fleeing red states (Republican stronghold states), such as Arkansas and Alabama, where anti-LGBTIQ+ legislation has taken centre stage and finding solace among the rainbow flags lining Santa Monica Boulevard. For some, that journey means uprooting entire lives and families; for others, it's a gradual migration or simply an annual visit during Pride, in search of acceptance, safety and a community that feels like home. "West Hollywood has long been a safe destination for queer people, who were a central constituency in the city-within-a-city's founding forty years ago," Lil Miss Hot Mess says. "Over the past four decades, drag has really flourished as an art form in WeHo, from iconic nightclubs … to community activism and fundraising."
Tony Valenzuela, executive director of One Institute, is a leading activist and thought leader in the HIV/AIDS and LGBTIQ+ communities. He is also openly vocal about his HIV positive status, after receiving his diagnosis in 1995. "I was constantly around mostly gay men who were dying," Valenzuela says. "I saw it as a death sentence for myself." But far from it. Valenzuela's activism following his diagnosis has earned him two listings in the OUT100 list, representing the country's most influential LGBTIQ+ leaders.
Speaking on the recent funding cuts impacting queer communities and renewed political assaults on LGBTIQ+ rights across the country under President Donald Trump, Valenzuela says the sentiment among the queer community is familiar. "This feels like the 90s all over again," he says, referencing the alienating impact the HIV/AIDS epidemic had on the community. The latest US federal budget proposal slashes funding for LGBTIQ+ initiatives, including diversity, equity and inclusion programs, transgender healthcare access and HIV/AIDS services, amounting to roughly US$2.67 billion ($4.11 billion) in cuts.
When Rory Hayes thinks of Chicago, where they came out as lesbian at age 10 — several years before they realised they were trans non-binary — they are flooded with bittersweet memories. "Chicago today is very queer-friendly, but when I was a kid, I faced hostile conversations from a mum who thought public school was making me 'think these ideas'," Hayes says. "At 12, I was sent to conversion therapy disguised as a weight-loss camp. "It taught me that wanting to be myself was wrong. So when that same city saw a violent attack on lesbians near Wrigleyville, even if it was isolated, it felt like a sign that I didn't truly belong." When Hayes later decided to move to LA at 17, they never looked back.
I felt a hundred per cent more like myself. I wasn't around anything that reminded me of those places where I felt unsafe. "West Hollywood felt very queer, objectively safe. Now, with anti-trans bills cropping up nationwide, I'm encouraging more folks to spend their time here or even move," they said.
One of the most urgent reasons queer trans people are relocating to West Hollywood is to access to gender-affirming care . California's laws are overtly supportive of it, while other states — notably those with a Republican majority — are increasingly restricting access. To date, 27 states in the US have passed laws banning gender-affirming care. Medicaid, a joint federal and state program that provides subsidised healthcare to some people with limited income and resources, covers hormone replacement therapy (HRT) for trans youth and adults, and California has explicit protections for providers. Whereas states like Texas have passed bills criminalising doctors prescribing HRT to minors, and Florida's 'Parents' Bill of Rights' has led to hospitals being investigated for treating trans youth.
"Even if they [trans people] come for the medical access, like Medicaid coverage for HRT, they often stay [in WeHo] for the community," Hayes says. They add that, for many, a single prescription or hormone injection can become the first step towards rebuilding their lives, and WeHo offers both the care they need and an unbroken network of support. "I still miss my hometown, but I needed to be in a place that actively lifts queer stories. West Hollywood lets me be seen," Hayes says.
Just a few blocks away from One Gallery, Fangirl Café pulses with a different kind of energy. Since opening in November 2023, the married queer couple, Cynthia and Betsy, has built the little coffee shop into a haven for women, queer, and non-binary music fans tired of bar culture. The pair requested that SBS News withhold their surnames for safety reasons. "During COVID, Betsy was bartending at music venues, and I was working from home," Cynthia says. "We kept meeting in random coffee shops, looking for a space to connect, especially for queer women. But WeHo, for all its queerness, lacked a spot like this." Inside the café on a quiet weekday, vinyl spins in the corner, and a small stage stands ready for acoustic sets, drag karaoke, and album listening parties.
"We wanted to centre music and 90s nostalgia, uplift queer and non-binary artists, photographers, videographers," Cynthia says. "Our approach was simple: be honest about what we can provide, and the right crowd will find us. Since launch, people have come for coffee and stayed for community."
Seeing trans friends hug and cry on our couches, telling us 'thank you for this space' makes every late night worth it. But running a small business in WeHo isn't without its struggles. "There's so much political anxiety. Trans identities are literally being erased, and the current climate means that people are more comfortable being outwardly and unwarrantedly hateful," Betsy says. "And sometimes there's anxiety: will queer funding dry up? If someone can't afford coffee, can they still find support here?" Despite lingering concerns about further cuts to LGBTIQ+ focused initiatives, the community in WeHo has rallied. Betsy says it's a testament to their resilience that "queer spaces can flourish even under pressure". "One regular posted online asking how they can help keep our space running when things get tough financially. Another trans guest set up a letter-writing event here when politics got heavy. "It's proof, for us, this isn't just a business, it's a safe space people rely on."

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