The Radical Perseverance of Janetta Louise Johnson
Trailblazing activist, advocate, and abolitionist, Janetta Louise Johnson. Photo courtesy of Janetta Louise Johnson.
By Jaimee A. Swift
An activist, advocate, and abolitionist, Janetta Louise Johnson’s (she/her) leadership, testimony, and radical compassion and perseverance is an inspiration to the many people that know her and admire her from afar.
Janetta Louise Johnson’s interview is a part of our March theme, “Sankofa: Honoring Our Black Feminist Pioneers.” To read the descriptor, click here.
“I believe in creating a space without violence, discrimination, and over-policing and making sure Black trans women have opportunities for ownership and cultural spaces [where] they feel safe. It’s most important for us to have a space to visit and visualize what our future could be like.”
Janetta Louise Johnson, 55, is most certainly a Black Woman Radical through and through. As the Executive Director of the Transgender Gender-Variant & Intersex Justice Project (TGIJP), a San Francisco-based non-profit organization fighting for transgender, gender variant, and intersex people in California prisons, jails, detention centers and against human rights abuses, police violence, racism, and more, Johnson has spearheaded countless movements and initiatives for gender equity, self-determination, and liberation for formerly and currently incarcerated transgender people in California and beyond.
Originally from Tampa, Florida, as a formerly incarcerated woman who survived three and half years in a federal prison, Johnson moved to San Francisco in 1997, where she became radicalized and politicized through the leadership and her relationship with Miss Major Griffin-Gracy, a pioneering leader, activist, the former Executive Director of TGIJP, and her adopted transgender mother. Through Miss Major’s encouragement, after her release from prison, Johnson began working with nonprofits and social service agencies to strengthen and catalyze laws, policies, and sustainable resources for people inside and also outside of jails and prisons. Johnson was at the forefront of legislative campaigns such as the Name and Dignity Act, which makes it possible for transgender people in California prisons to change their legal name and gender.
In 2016, she co-founded Compton’s Transgender Cultural District in San Francisco, the first legally recognized transgender cultural district in the world. She is also a founding member of TAJA’s Coalition, a community accountability coalition whose mission is to stop the genocide of trans women of color. A prison abolitionist, Johnson is more than dedicated and committed to catalyzing interventions to reduce recidivism in the transgender community by creating job opportunities and leadership development through initiatives such as TGIJP’s Melenie Eleneke Grassroots Re-Entry Program, a program that emphasizes abolition, safety, mentorship, employment preparation, and harm reduction, where participants emerge as leaders in the movement for liberation.
An inspiration, a powerhouse, a trailblazer, Johnson is truly committed to creating a world where Black transgender women are truly free.
Johnson spoke with Black Women Radicals about advice she would give to young, Black transgender organizers and activists; her opinion on the work that still needs to be done to ensure full equity and justice; how Miss Major Griffin-Gracy has inspired her; and what a Black Woman Radical means to her.
You have been on the forefront of the movement to ensure rights and justice for current and formerly incarcerated transgender people. Thinking about when you first started as an activist, how far has the movement come in terms of progress?
Janetta Louise Johnson (JLJ): “I feel like the movement has shifted but not as much as we really need as a community. I think the most important thing is that in our organizing work, we are starting to get more people politicized and organized and we are making sure that they have a full understanding of what these various movements are about. I think specifically in the African-American trans community, we live in a society that puts us under a higher level of pressure than most. We are always in survival mode, so we don’t get an opportunity to get the information, to really understand what exactly is going on, and how we can be of support of this movement and to this work so that we are creating more sustainable opportunities than we had in the past. We have definitely grown enough to push back.”
In your opinion, what still needs to be done to decolonize spaces so the Black transgender community can truly be safe?
JLJ: “I think we need equal access and opportunity to build the equity that we need, especially in terms of sustainability and also having ownership. Movement work requires work and like I said, a lot of people are in survival mode where they don’t have the access and the ability to do this work. There needs to be inclusivity and intentionality when it comes to including Black trans folks’ lives and narratives. I am in the de Young Museum and there is all this beautiful art by Black photographers and I am thinking to myself, ‘I am sure there were some Black trans photographers.’ The [exhibit] is from 1963 to 1983 and it would be nice to see someone trans in art history because it is art history and history of various movements. I know there were some Black trans people there but where are they, you know? Things like that matter. Society would have a better understanding of gender if it were more inclusive. Transphobia and homophobia abound because of the lack of inclusivity and lack of intentionality in creating a world of safety, specifically when you talk about Black trans folks and gender non-conforming and non-binary folks. We are amazing human beings and that doesn’t get highlighted in the bigger world. Don’t get me wrong––we create our own shit and do our own thing but it is usually separate from what others have going on and that is where the issue is––separate but not equal.”
“Society would have a better understanding of gender if it were more inclusive. Transphobia and homophobia abound because of the lack of inclusivity and lack of intentionality in creating a world of safety, specifically when you talk about Black trans folks and gender non-conforming and non-binary folks. We are amazing human beings and that doesn’t get highlighted in the bigger world.”
When you look over your activism and leadership, what are you most proud of?
JLJ: “I think the thing I am most proud of is being a founder of three organizations that are still operating, particularly, Transcending, which is a transgender support group that is still in existence; being one of the leading founders of TAJA’s Coalition and responding to the violence against Black trans women; and also being one of the leading founders of Compton’s Transgender Cultural District because that was a fight for me. I had to deal with a lot of white supremacy and with a lot of people that did not look like me and it was really challenging for me. There were some days where I knew I had to be a part of this project and I knew I had to make some demands. I knew I had to leave away with some sort of historical opportunity for Black trans people to have ownership of something. That is a big thing for me––Black trans people need ownership and need to have a better opportunity to have ownership and have a place to call our own that belongs to us. Creating the Compton’s Transgender Cultural District kind of put me in the mind of––for example, Chinatown here in San Francisco is so much needed for people who are coming from other countries and cultures to have a place to feel that is their own. Why can’t transgender people have that as well?”
How does it feel to see the new generation of Black transgender women activists fighting for liberation?
JLJ: “Oh my gosh, I am so excited! We just finished our National All Black Trans Convening where we had 56 Black trans women there. To see the 18, 19, and 20-year olds being well-informed, radical, trying to find their place in this world, looking on the strength of their elders, and sharing stories with them and listening to their work, activism, and what they want to contribute, I often to say to myself I feel safer knowing that these women are here. I know that this is just going to go on and on and on. I think about homelessness and I say if you house one Black trans woman, you can say you housed sometimes two or three because in the Black trans community, even if we don’t let you stay with us, we are going to make sure you are okay, that you come to our house, take a shower, spend the night, and get some rest. The Black trans community will bring anybody in and take care of anybody––not everybody will take care of us.”
“I knew I had to leave away with some sort of historical opportunity for Black trans people to have ownership of something. That is a big thing for me––Black trans people need ownership and need to have a better opportunity to have ownership and have a place to call our own that belongs to us.”
With advice would you give to Black trans youth activists and those who are interested in activism?
JLJ: “We are in a movement for Black lives. Just like the Black Panthers had their movement, this is a very important movement and if we ever want to evolve in a way that we want to as a community, we have to do the work. I would share with them that nobody is going to save us but us. So, we have to do the work because nobody is going to save us but us. I’ve lived for many, many years waiting for somebody to come and save me and save Black trans women. The way I feel is that we are the only ones that have stepped in and saved ourselves. It is sad that we have to go through all the trauma we go through. I think for particularly Black trans women my age or older, we have had to go through so much shit to get where we are today. I think of Miss Major and all these Transgender Day of Remembrance’s [TDOR]. Leading up to those days, it usually takes Miss Major up to three days of being completely alone because it is too much trauma and pain. I didn’t understand until I got older. You go through every memory of violence that was perpetuated to your trans community and that is a long time to hold that. That is a long time of Black trans people and gender non-conforming people being murdered and mainly being murdered by cis Black people.”
“It is a very painful thing. I cannot always handle TDOV [Transgender Day of Visibility] and TDOR. I have to be by myself. I have to be. That is when I do a lot of self-talk and a lot of self-reflecting. I talk to the ancestors to let them know I am trying and have dialogue with them to figure this shit out and asking them how to move forward and to help me navigate my next move. I am living my life for them because they don’t get to be here right now. I think about a lot of them and that their gifts and talents were never really able to be used. I think about a whole group of girls I used to do sex work with that were designers and master hair stylists but they would never get the real opportunity that they deserved as trans people. I feel they died a very unhappy and unfulfilled life. Can you imagine the last memory of your life doing sex work and being beat down and used and abused and feeling that this is all you can do?”
Janetta Johnson speaks on a panel on transgender rights activism, San Francisco, August 2018. Photo Credit: Pax Ahimsa Gethen. Creative Commons.
What brings you joy these days?
JLJ: “What brings me joy and happiness is––don’t get me wrong I have my own personal Jesus, which is the light that shines in me. What makes me really, really happy is listening to the Gospels, to old spiritual hymns, and listening to old Negro songs. I feel like the spirit told me that I always had to have a song in my heart, so I listen to that music repeatedly. Everyday as I walk, even if my knee is in pain, I have a song just to put over that pain in my knee to help me believe that everything is going to be alright and that I am walking in my purpose. No cross, no crown.”
You’ve previously shared how you became politicized through your kinship with Miss Major Griffin Gracy. How did that moment change your life?
JLJ: “Moving to San Francisco on a Monday and meeting Miss Major was life changing. Me and Miss Major only had a three minute conversation and someone told me that she was a Black trans woman who is very supportive of all trans women but she is really, really good with working with the Black trans community. I told her I was coming [to San Francisco] and almost two weeks later, I showed up. Ever since then, I’ve been right beside her and working beside her and just really paying attention to this amazing woman and really seeing her compassion for the trans community. I saw how she handled different situations, how she was very radical, talking shit, making demands, and showing up for Black trans women in her big Black cadillac. I remember one time when I first moved here and I was living in the shelter. One day, I didn’t shave and they were giving me a hard time and saying they were going to put me out if I didn’t shave. I was like, ‘Oh my god––my skin is fucked up, I don’t have a good razor, and I can’t shave my face today.’ The way Miss Major came from her home and showed up at that shelter and read them the riot act and told them to back up off me. She started talking about ‘how every woman does not have to shave and if you make her shave, then every woman in here has to shave, including you!’ [Laughs].
“She started giving me opportunities to go to trainings. I am fresh in San Francisco, new, and got so much fucking trauma and she would send me to domestic violence trainings and I am sitting there crying saying, ‘This is all the shit I’ve been going through and I have to stay because Miss Major sent me here and I am going to grow from it! If she told me to do it, I am going to do it!’ I just followed her leadership. Miss Major always talked to me about different things about being in leadership, about being politicized, about organizing the community, and why it is important for us to show up––even if it wasn’t designed for us to be there. Miss Major supported us by showing up and letting them know that we have value and worth and we are here because we are a part of this. She used to tell me her visions about the transgender community and how she wanted things to be for us in the future. She would tell me these things as if she wasn’t going to be here. I am so grateful to God because it is 20-something years later and she is still here. Right now, I am holding the legacy of Miss Major, who is a living legend and an icon. She gets to see her work because Miss Major taught me everything. She sat me down one day and I can remember her telling me, ‘I know you’ve been through a lot and I know a lot of shit happened. But don’t blame yourself for that shit. That is not your shit, that’s their shit. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you. You are not crazy. The world can make you feel like you are the worst human being in the world but just keep on being you.’ When Miss Major told me something, I believed her. I spent the first three years closely working with her, crying on her breast, and telling her all my pain and trauma. I told her everything and she would just let me cry and cry. But I needed that. That’s the thing Miss Major gave me and gives me.”
“She would tell me these things as if she wasn’t going to be here. I am so grateful to God because it is 20-something years later and she is still here. Right now, I am holding the legacy of Miss Major who is a living legend and an icon. She gets to see her work because Miss Major taught me everything.”
“I try to reciprocate this to other members of the transgender community. I am exhausted and I can’t give three years but usually when trans people come out of jail or prison, I usually give them––it depends on the individual––but I will give them 90 days of undivided attention and love. Some people I’ve worked with for a year. I want to make sure Black trans people and trans people in general who are coming out of prison have a safe exit. We haven’t had that traditionally. There hasn’t been anybody who's been there and if they have been there like our family members, they weren’t there for us. They were there for who they wanted us to be. I just want to make sure they have a safe passage. You know how you resonate with different people in history? That is kind of like my little Harriet Tubman feels. I feel like when the people get free, I want us to help them stay free, you know? I am an abolitionist. Just imagine if they let everybody out right now. We are going to be in a panic because we better have some resources for them. I have worked with trans people who have spent 20 years in prison and come to San Francisco and they are like, ‘You bring me to this shit-hole? I will never get an apartment here and I will never be able to afford to live here.’ There were a few trans people who spent a lot of time in prison and said, ‘I kind of want to go back. I can never afford $3,000 for a studio apartment. I don’t have those skills.’
What does a Black Woman Radical mean to you?
JLJ: “I think of women supporting other women and inspiring other women. I think of when you are in a situation when you are seeing other people disrespect women, you have to have that strong voice and have to govern yourself in a way that people will listen to you and are willing to learn from you. It is respecting each other and keeping other women safe. It is all about keeping other women safe and opening doors and creating opportunities for other women. When you are in a position to pay women a better wage––just try to be strategic as you possibly can to empower all women and bring all women into the movement so they can be a part of something revolutionary and that is going to impact children. It is being able to hold down things by yourself or even when you are in a relationship and not allowing yourself to be disrespected. It is having conversations with men about toxic masculinity. Sometimes, I watch Paternity Court and I see the way some women on the opposition act when they know their man has slept with another woman and they sit there and degrade her by telling her ‘she’s a ho.’ To me, you know how men are. He did in fact sleep with her behind your back so why would you sit there and degrade and demean her as a woman? Even though we still have some of those same experiences, we will dehumanize the next woman who experienced it as well, you know?”
“It is about protecting Black people and protecting Black children. It is about learning, growing, showing up, and being a part of creating a better opportunity for women. Women give their all. I am not saying they won’t but women are most likely to stay when men leave. I think even at my job at TGIJP and it is the woman that lives inside of me and who I am, that is the woman who stays. Until I find someone who has the same passion that I do about incarcerated and formerly incarcerated people, I am not leaving my position. I am not leaving my opportunity to be that person that is there to help. I am not leaving. It has to be a real fucked up situation for women to leave, you know?”
Who are Black women that inspire you?
JLJ: “All the work that I do is a combination of Miss Major, of the ancestors, and of the trans women I walked the streets with for many, many years who died and their last memory was street walking. And if you asked me, I believe that some of them just died from a broken heart and could not turn another trick and could not walk the streets another day. They could not smoke another crack pipe. Those are the people who motivate me and that didn’t get a chance. But definitely Miss Major. Sometimes people don’t know how to thank you enough but the best way I can thank her is to always uphold her legacy and always hold on to making sure that Black trans people know their history and know how powerful they are. Miss Major told me when I was in jail facing six years and I had to do three and a half years that she could not retire, so she needed me to not get in trouble or have any drama. She said she needed me to get in there, do my time, and get out because I am not retiring until you come out. I want you to be the Executive Director because you share my values and my vision and you are very passionate about your work and your community. I was like, ‘Okay, girl. Are you crazy, girl? I am in jail, girl!’ That gave me hope and inspiration to grow, to create better, do better, and go back over the book of time that I spent with Miss Major and really reflect on my life and the work that I was doing and even the poor decisions I made.”
“People don’t understand where my passion comes from. Some people think I am angry. I am like, ‘No, I am not angry.’ I’ve been here long enough to see the bullshit and we are going to correct this shit.”
“Most of my life today is about overcoming barriers and supporting other transgender, gender non-conforming, and non-binary people. I work with all populations. We didn’t just start off working with transgender people. Miss Major didn’t just start working with transgender people. She started working here in San Francisco when they started tokenizing one Black trans woman and every now and then, they would put one Black trans person on staff. Anywhere where Miss Major worked, she did a good job but she would always eventually make them hire other Black trans women. She always put herself in a position where her word carried enough weight if she said something that made sense, somebody would listen to her and she would not let go until she made sure they had a job for another Black trans woman or another trans woman period. I replicate that. People don’t understand where my passion comes from. Some people think I am angry. I am like, ‘No, I am not angry.’ I’ve been here long enough to see the bullshit and we are going to correct this shit.”
You can follow Transgender Gender-Variant & Intersex Justice Project (TGIJP) on Twitter.
For more information about the Transgender Gender-Variant & Intersex Justice Project (TGIJP), visit here.