Trans Ugandans build power through business

Achen, a pseudonym, is a soft-spoken 26-year-old from northern Uganda who never envisioned owning a business, let alone one that would enable her to pay for her younger sister’s schooling. After years of moving between shelters, facing street violence, evictions, and constant denial of healthcare due to her identity as a trans woman, her situation worsened with the 2023 passage of Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality Act. Along with other trans individuals, Achen’s already precarious life crumbled further. As fear escalated, support systems weakened, and donor-backed safe spaces closed amidst foreign aid suspensions, her voice nearly vanished.

As ‘Washington Blade’ writes, Achen is among the trans and gender-diverse individuals who have gained a lifeline through the Trans Resilience and Economic Empowerment (TREE) initiative by Tranz Network Uganda, operational since 2020. Created as an integrated economic empowerment platform amidst institutional challenges and global donor shifts, TREE stands as one of the few initiatives persevering in Uganda’s increasingly restrictive environment. At a time when Uganda’s LGBTQ+ movement is facing unparalleled crises — domestic legal persecution and withdrawal of donor support abroad — this initiative plays a crucial role in restoring agency and dignity through livelihoods. With modest funding from partner organisations, TREE offers skills training, seed capital, mentorship, and linkage to health services for trans and gender-diverse individuals navigating the harsh realities of criminalisation and economic exclusion.

Since its inception, TREE has bolstered trans-led businesses across various Ugandan towns and cities, including Kampala, Mbarara, Lugazi, and Mbale. Participants have received training in financial literacy, smartphones for digital transactions, and support through Village Savings and Loan Associations, creating safe spaces and links to health services such as HIV testing and counselling. Trans-led businesses in areas like piggery, tailoring, catering, vending, and crafts have developed into community hubs. Beneficiaries have acquired certificates in accounting and financial management, while others have used their earnings to secure safe housing, return to school, or resume HIV treatment. Emergency support extends to community members facing eviction or violence, providing medical care, relocation assistance, and GBV counselling. These actions have created a ripple effect that is tangible to those experiencing it. One participant described TREE as providing “not just money, but a second chance.”

Economic marginalisation has long been used as a control mechanism against trans communities in Uganda, where discriminatory hiring, lack of legal recognition on IDs, and social stigma exclude them from the formal labor market. Many resort to unstable, informal sectors like sex work, exposing them to health risks and legal dangers under vague morality laws. In rural areas, heightened surveillance and stigma lead to exclusion from community savings groups, denial of land access, and forced outing when seeking credit or medical care. Many remain trapped in poverty, reliant on dwindling NGO safety nets that were strained even before U.S.A. foreign aid reductions caused widespread closures.

President Donald Trump’s 2025 executive orders, halting 83 percent of USAID programs, severely impacted Uganda’s LGBTQ+ support structures. Although waivers allowed basic HIV and tuberculosis treatment funding to continue, diversity and inclusion programs were frozen. Shelters shut down, staff layoffs ensued, mental health services vanished, and peer-led HIV prevention programs disappeared. As access to HIV testing and treatment facilities decreased, stigma intensified. Community members who previously relied on drop-in centres for PrEP, lubricants, and condoms began facing new infections or treatment disruptions. In this context, economic resilience is a matter of survival rather than just income.

Williams Apako, executive director of Tranz Network Uganda, emphasises that TREE aims to empower trans individuals by recognising economic agency as essential to all forms of empowerment, including health.

“You can’t ask someone to adhere to HIV treatment or avoid risky behavior when they’re hungry, homeless, or too afraid to walk to a clinic,” he explains. “This strategy reframes resilience, focusing on self-determination. Each cycle adapts to our communities’ realities. When people lose shelter, we help them regain stability. When businesses fail due to legal challenges, we assist them in pivoting. Earning independently means one can escape violence, unsafe sex, and dependency.”

Afiya, also a pseudonym, is a 22-year-old trans woman from Lugazi who turned to TREE after her family’s expulsion left her without antiretroviral medication for weeks.

“They helped me resume my care quietly,” she reflects. “Now, I braid hair at home and have satisfied customers. I have my own money now. It’s not much, but it’s mine.”

TREE-supported groups, whose names are withheld to protect members, have trained dozens of trans individuals in skills like tailoring, hairdressing, catering, piggery, and crafts. Others are testing mobile vending and delivery services in areas where visibility poses a risk. The project offers more than capital; it aids in business registration, cooperative formation, and partnerships with sympathetic local leaders to foster safer work environments while maintaining access to essential reproductive health services. In one area, a local health centre has integrated HIV services with TREE, offering discreet ARV and counselling access without requiring LGBTQ+ identification.

Hakim, another pseudonym, candidly shares his story.

“Life was already tough as a trans person, and I was also broke. I wanted to earn a living independently. I’ve always had an entrepreneurial spirit, but didn’t know where to start back then. I took a leap of faith, got a loan from the SACCO, and invested in a sisal sponge business. It took time, but it paid off. With my own hands, I’ve repaid the loan and sustained myself. That’s something I’m really proud of.”

The TREE project’s standout feature is its decentralised approach, tailoring support to each group’s strengths and local challenges. Some groups operate low-profile, income-generating activities from private homes, while others advocate publicly for inclusive budgets from district councils. In any case, the project positions trans individuals as innovators, workers, and citizens, not just aid recipients. Several beneficiaries, for the first time, have made financial decisions independently, with one simply stating, “I paid my rent without begging. That was new for me.”

Despite TREE’s hope, Apako acknowledges its scale and limitations.

“This isn’t a substitute for healthcare or human rights protections,” he asserts. “Economic empowerment doesn't thrive in a vacuum. We need international solidarity, political pressure on the Ugandan government to respect human dignity, and for donors, including private foundations, to reconsider how they support resilience in hostile environments.” He notes several TREE partners are inundated with unmet requests for support.

Uganda’s HIV strategy, directed by the Uganda AIDS Commission and partly funded by global bodies like UNAIDS and the Global Fund, risks faltering if it continues to marginalise key populations. The rollback of targeted, inclusive programs could increase transmission rates and erode public health progress. Though small, TREE and similar efforts in solidarity with Uganda’s LGBTQI+ communities serve as a reminder that solutions must centre those most affected. In times of high rhetoric and low funding, this project speaks to potential.

For Achen and others, the change has been subtle yet significant. She now operates a small catering business with two other trans women and no longer worries about eviction. When asked what advice she’d give to other trans people afraid to be visible or start anew, she responds, “Even in fear, we can plant something small. And from that, we live.”