Jasmine Mckenzie shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.
Jasmine, so good to connect and we’re excited to share your story and insights with our audience. There’s a ton to learn from your story, but let’s start with a warm up before we get into the heart of the interview. What do you think others are secretly struggling with—but never say?
As a Black trans woman leading a nonprofit in this hostile political climate, I believe one of the deepest, most unspoken struggles many of us carry, especially leaders, is the silent weight of survival while performing strength. People often see our resilience, our grants, our events, our photos, our language, but not the nights we cry ourselves to sleep because we’re holding too much for too many, while no one is holding us.
We don’t always talk about the burnout that doesn’t have room to exist. Because if we stop, whole communities lose care, funding, safety, and visibility. The grief of being misunderstood, even by our own. How isolation creeps in when leadership becomes a pedestal rather than a circle. The fear of vulnerability. How saying “I’m not okay” could be weaponized against us, questioned by funders, or used to invalidate our work. The guilt. For not doing more, not being everywhere, not saving everyone even when we’re already giving more than we have.
The exhaustion from navigating respectability and radical truth at the same time. And perhaps the hardest thing we don’t say out loud: Sometimes we feel invisible inside our visibility. But we keep going. Because joy is resistance. And our leadership, flawed, raw, powerful is proof that we’re still here. Not just surviving but creating spaces where our people don’t have to hold it all alone.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Jasmine McKenzie, and I’m a Black trans woman, visionary organizer, and the founder and Executive Director of The McKenzie Project, Inc. A Black trans-led nonprofit based in South Florida. Our mission is rooted in liberation, visibility, and survival, building spaces where Black transgender, nonbinary, and gender-expansive people can thrive in the face of systemic violence and erasure.
What makes our work unique is that we don’t just provide services, we build ecosystems of care. Through initiatives like the Joy & Liberation Center, House of the South, HEAT Conservatory, and Breathing While Black & Trans, we combine housing, healing arts, economic empowerment, HIV advocacy, legal resistance, and climate justice into a powerful model of community-led transformation. We are not waiting for the world to save us, we’re saving ourselves, loudly and unapologetically.
Every project we launch is personal. It’s built from lived experience, from the pain of being pushed out, and from the joy of finding a chosen family. Right now, I’m most excited about expanding our HRT Hub (Hurricane Response Team) across Florida and launching the first Black Trans and LGBTQ+ Thrift Boutique in Sunrise, Florida. We are documenting our legacy while we live it. To me, this work isn’t just about programs, it’s about building a future where Black trans folks are not just surviving systems, but designing new ones rooted in justice, creativity, and joy.
Great, so let’s dive into your journey a bit more. What’s a moment that really shaped how you see the world?
One moment that deeply shaped how I see the world was when I had to fight for housing, not just for myself, but for others like me who were constantly being denied dignity, safety, and shelter because we were Black and trans.
There was a night I’ll never forget, when a young Black trans girl called me crying because she’d been kicked out again, with nowhere to go. I didn’t have much myself, but I found a way to get her a hotel room and food. That moment wasn’t new, but it hit different. It reminded me that the world wasn’t built for us to survive in, let alone lead in. And yet, we do. Over and over again.
That night shifted something in me. I realized that no one was coming to save us. We had to build what we needed, from scratch, with love, with rage, and with the resilience passed down through every ancestor who never got the chance to breathe freely.
It’s why I do this work the way I do not from pity, but from power. That moment taught me the world doesn’t change because we ask it to. It changes when we demand space, when we create what didn’t exist, and when we refuse to be erased.
What did suffering teach you that success never could?
Suffering taught me what success never could: how to build strength in silence, how to love without conditions, and how to lead without applause. Success might teach you how to shine in front of a crowd, but suffering teaches you how to survive when no one is clapping, when the doors are locked, and when the system tells you don’t belong.
It taught me: How to recognize real from fake, because when you’re at your lowest, only truth remains.
That rest is radical when you’ve been told your worth is tied to how much you produce.
That the most powerful leaders aren’t the loudest in the room, they’re the ones who keep showing up, even when they’re broken.
Suffering stripped away ego. It taught me humility, empathy, and the sacredness of community care. It taught me how to hold others with tenderness, because I know what it feels like to not be held. Success might put your name in lights, but suffering carves your purpose into your spirit. And that purpose—that fire—is what keeps me going, even when the road gets hard.
So a lot of these questions go deep, but if you are open to it, we’ve got a few more questions that we’d love to get your take on. What’s a cultural value you protect at all costs?
A cultural value I protect at all costs is radical care. In a world that treats Black trans lives as disposable, radical care is resistance. It means seeing each other’s humanity beyond what we can produce, perform, or provide. It means feeding someone before asking for their labor, listening before responding, and showing up even when it’s inconvenient.
At The McKenzie Project, radical care looks like:
Letting people cry, rest, rage, or rejoice, without punishment.
Creating spaces where chosen family is honored just as deeply as blood.
Prioritizing healing, joy, and accessibility in everything we do, not as extras, but as essentials.
I protect this value because we are often asked to lead and survive while carrying trauma, stigma, and exhaustion. Radical care reminds us that we are not machines for movements, we are people. And people deserve softness, safety, and the freedom to be whole.
That kind of care? That’s culture. That’s legacy. That’s a revolution.
Okay, we’ve made it essentially to the end. One last question before you go. Could you give everything your best, even if no one ever praised you for it?
Yes. And I have.
As a Black trans woman leading in a world that wasn’t built for me, I had to learn early on that praise can’t be the fuel, purpose has to be.
I’ve poured everything I have into this work, into building homes, healing spaces, jobs, joy, and justice for people like me, long before anyone clapped, funded, or even noticed. Because I know what it feels like to be unseen, unheard, and unprotected. And I promised myself I would never let another Black trans person feel that alone again if I could help it.
Would I love to be praised? Sure. But the truth is, my reward is in the lives saved, the tears wiped, the art created, the babies housed, the dreams revived. That’s the kind of praise that lasts.
Even if the world never says thank you, I know I showed up with everything in me. And that’s more than enough.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.themckenzieproject.org
- Instagram: themckenzieprojectinc
- Linkedin: The McKenzie Project Inc
- Twitter: TMPInc_org
- Facebook: The McKenzie Project Inc
- Yelp: themckenzieprojectinc
- Youtube: themckenzieprojectinc
Image Credits
Photos by Dread NLPG and Images of clients and community members who supports The McKenzie Project, Inc
