Sgt. Stephanie Lourenco

Last year, a U.S. Court of Appeals upheld the verdict in Philecia Barnes’ employment discrimination suit bringing national attention to prejudice within law enforcement agencies. Not all trans women in uniform face discrimination during or after their transition; in fact, some are surprised to find support when they come out.

San Jose, Calif. police officer, Julie Marin assumed she could never transition on the job, and it took several years for her to go from talking about transitioning to actually doing it. When she finally approached a Deputy Chief of Police (who happened to be lesbian), Marin says, “She was a little thrown off by my revelation, but [she] was supportive.”

After 22 years in law enforcement, Marin transitioned while working as a detective—which she believes made the transition easier than if she’d been in uniform. But the reaction to her transition wasn’t all positive.

“There were some who had problems—namely my partner at work, whom I had worked with for 11 years undercover and working closely with. We do not speak to this day..”

Without the difficulties and lost friends, Marin, now 47, might not have started TCOPS (www.tcops.org), the support group for Police officers questioning their gender or transitioning, as well as those who have “a gender identity issue in their present or past.” Since it’s inception in 2002, the group has outgrown its moniker: Transgender Community of Police & Sheriffs. Now it serves other law enforcement officers, including federal agents, parole officers and community service, and boasts members from around the globe. Marin—who returned to patrol two years ago—hopes to establish a San Jose police liaison to the LGBT community, which she sees as essential in addressing LGBT distrust of law enforcement.

Another TCOP member, Portland, Oregon’s Sergeant Stephanie Lourenco was promoted long after she transitioned, and she raves about her subordinates. “I’ve been told by almost everyone on my shift that I’m the best sergeant they have ever had.”

When Lourenco first decided to transition, she was in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho area, and like Marin, she assumed she’d have to leave the force. But Lourenco’s supervisors wouldn’t hear of it. Lourenco was a skills instructor, training other officers and teaching at police academies.

“It didn’t make sense that I was leaving. I finally disclosed my true reasons to a lieutenant that I knew and he was like, ‘Is that all? You can’t leave then.’ I was astounded and took it to the chief. He supported me 100 percent, saying he’d be proud to keep me on.”

It turned out that fellow officers didn’t share the support of her supervisors.

“I left because the rank and file would not speak to me or even look at me. They were slow to cover me on calls and sometimes didn’t even show up. After a few months a state trooper I knew told me to be careful. Cops were openly talking about how they would shoot me themselves if given the chance. I decided to leave.”

Lourenco took a job in Portland, Ore., and she says that word of her gender transition preceded her. “The word was out—and so was I. I’ve been accepted since day one and made many great friends on the Portland Police Bureau.”

Lourenco says that as a female officer she felt underestimated—by both the public and other officers. “My co-workers get over that quickly once I’ve proven myself and, well, by the time the bad guys figure out their mistake they are already in handcuffs. I like that the bad guys underestimate me.”

Marin says after she transitioned, her voice was no longer heard in meetings. “Any opinion that I would express had little or no weight,” she recalls. “I had been an investigator-detective of some renown, and was often asked for my opinions and expertise. I’ve had to change how I do business. I have to work behind the scenes and feed information and ideas to others, who many times pass them off as their own. As one of my [female] friends, a Lieutenant, told me: ‘Welcome to my world.’”