In the heart of the Midwest, where harsh winters can isolate and laws often lag behind justice, Minnesota’s LGBTQIA community has built something powerful: a tradition of mutual aid that is as life-saving as it is deeply rooted in love, resilience, and collective action.
Chris Stedman—writer, podcaster, professor at Augsburg University, and founder of the WE HELP US hotline—has spent years documenting the unspoken truth: that queer and trans people have always had to take care of one another. In a state known for its progressive pockets and grassroots organizing, Minnesota stands out with its rich history of LGBTQIA mutual aid, a legacy that continues to thrive in response to ongoing marginalization and systemic neglect.
Mutual Aid in the Midst of Crisis
Mutual aid is not charity. It is not driven by institutions or governed by hierarchies. It is a grassroots, decentralized effort in which communities show up for themselves—especially when official support systems fail.
In Minnesota, many iconic LGBTQIA organizations were born from crisis. Groups like The Aliveness Project and Open Arms of Minnesota—now vital nonprofits serving thousands—were once small, informal networks of queer people pooling resources during the AIDS epidemic. These groups weren’t created with grants or institutional backing. They were built from desperation, love, and survival.
Stedman serves on the board of the PFund Foundation, a cornerstone of queer philanthropy in the Midwest. What many don’t know is that the foundation was born when a few LGBTQIA Minnesotans scraped together what little they had to create an emergency fund during the AIDS crisis. That humble beginning has evolved into a powerful fund that now redistributes hundreds of thousands of dollars each year to queer individuals and grassroots groups across the region.
Modern-Day Networks of Support
While the urgency of the AIDS crisis may have sparked the early flames of Minnesota’s LGBTQIA mutual aid networks, today’s movements reflect a broader and more intersectional understanding of care.
Projects like Twin Cities Trans Mutual Aid offer direct support to transgender people navigating poverty, discrimination, and health inequity. TIGERRS (Transgender, Intersex, and Gender Expansive Revolutionary Resources and Services) operates as a nonhierarchical collective, delivering programs rooted in community safety, trans empowerment, and solidarity—not bureaucracy.
Then there’s Quatrefoil Library, the second-oldest circulating LGBTQIA library in the U.S. It functions not just as a historical archive, but a living, breathing community space—all run by volunteers. It’s one of the most tangible examples of how queer people have preserved their stories when no one else would.
Why Stories Matter: Archiving Resistance and Care
In June 2025, Stedman launched a new project that’s as innovative as it is deeply personal: the WE HELP US hotline, a story-collecting initiative that invites LGBTQIA people to call 1-844-WE-HLP-US and leave a message describing their experience with mutual aid. These recorded testimonies will be archived at the Jean-Nickolaus Tretter Collection at the University of Minnesota—the largest LGBTQIA archive in the Upper Midwest and one of the largest in the nation.
Some stories may also be featured in Stedman’s upcoming podcast series, a follow-up to his deeply moving show Unread, which explored the emotional weight of minority stress and queer grief following a friend’s suicide. This time, his focus is on resilience—on the ways LGBTQIA people keep each other alive, especially when facing monumental challenges.
Pride and Collective Power: Voices from the Community
To amplify this project during Pride Month, Stedman gathered a diverse group of LGBTQIA Minnesotans who not only helped spread the word but also shared their own experiences of mutual aid.
Ash Murray, a firefighter from North Minneapolis, reflects on how the trans community offered support and guidance during his transition. “There is a sense of comfort and relief when in the company of other queers. An unspoken understanding,” he says. “We are the only ones who really understand what each other is going through.”
Ezra Bebop, a volunteer manager and HIV policy organizer, speaks to the historical context: “LGBTQIA+ people exist outside of traditional systems and binaries, so our reliance on community is paramount.” He recalls the summer of 2020, amid citywide protests and personal academic stress, when his community gifted him a retreat to a quiet cabin up north. “It was intuitive care. That saved me.”
Neesh Seif, a fitness professional from Elliot Park, reminds us how structural inequality makes mutual aid necessary. “The state of capitalism makes finding support and care almost impossible. We HAVE to lean on each other to get shit done. PERIODT.” A chosen family helped pay for their gender-affirming surgery through a community-supported GoFundMe campaign—a testament to what collective care looks like.
Nia T. Ross, an executive assistant from Whittier, echoes the emotional core of mutual aid: “We thrive as a collective.” In a city where she had no biological family, her found family became her lifeline—offering shelter, meals, emotional support, and even skill sharing.
Shelby Lano, a graphic designer from South Minneapolis, reminds us how mutual aid influences every layer of wellness. Her trauma therapist and bodywork specialist are both members of the queer community—people she found through LGBTQIA mutual aid networks. “Growing up, I didn’t have access to these kinds of resources, which hindered my healing process. Now, I heal without fear of judgement.”
When Institutions Fail, We Don’t
LGBTQIA mutual aid in Minnesota is more than just generosity. It is resistance in action. It is radical care in a world where many queer and trans lives remain under siege—both legally and socially. At a time when anti-trans legislation is escalating across the country and traditional support systems are failing, the need for community-based care is more urgent than ever.
This is why projects like WE HELP US are so vital. They not only collect and honor our stories, but ensure they live on. They remind us that we are not alone—that generations before us fought, loved, built, and survived—and that we are carrying their legacy forward.
To get involved or to share your story of mutual aid, visit wehelpusmn.com and call 1-844-WE-HLP-US. The work of documenting care, resistance, and queer joy starts with each of us—and will echo forward through the lives it continues to touch.