Editor’s note: Los Angeles Blade International News Editor Michael K. Lavers was on assignment in Argentina and Uruguay from April 2-12, 2025.

ROSARIO, Argentina — Two transgender women in Argentina’s Santa Fe province are documenting the persecution of trans people that took place during the brutal military dictatorship that governed their country from 1976-1983.

Carolina Boetti and Marzia Echenique created the Travestí Trans Santa Fe Archive, which seeks to “create a collective memory,” in 2020. (“Travestí” is the Spanish word for “crossdresser.”)

The archive, among other things, includes interviews with trans women who the dictatorship arrested and tortured. The archive also contains photographs from that period.

The archive is not in a specific location, but Boetti and Echenique have given presentations at local schools and universities. They have also spoken at a museum in Rosario, the largest city in Santa Fe province that is roughly 200 miles northwest of Buenos Aires, the Argentine capital, that honors the dictatorship’s victims.

Boetti and Echenique during an April 11 interview at a Rosario hotel said they are trying to raise funds that would allow them to digitize the archive and house it in a permanent location.

“We have this material that is fantastic,” said Boetti.

The Associated Press notes human rights groups estimate the dictatorship killed or forcibly disappeared upwards of 30,000 people in what became known as the “dirty war.” The dictatorship specifically targeted students, journalists, labor union leaders, and anyone else who it thought posed a threat.

The dictatorship first detained Echenique in 1979 when she was 16. She said it targeted her and other trans women because they were “not within that strict” binary of man and woman.  

“There was a dictator during the dictatorship, and he dictated this binarism, and there was no other way than man or woman,” Echenique told the Blade. “Everything else was penalized, deprived of all rights. They took away everything.”

Boetti was 15 when the dictatorship first detained her.

“They detained me because of my sexual orientation,” she told the Blade. “Homosexuality in those years was penalized under the law.”

Boetti said the law in 1982 — the year when she began her transition — penalized crossdressing, prostitution and vagrancy with up to 120 days in jail. Boetti told the Blade that authorities “constantly detained me” from 1982 until she left Argentina in the 1990s.

Echenique said the regime once detained her for six months.

“The way of living, of studying, of walking freely down the street, of living somewhere, of sitting down to eat something in a bar or how we are sitting today, for example, was unthinkable in those years,” she said.

Echenique left Argentina in 1988, three years after the dictatorship ended. She returned to the country in 2006.

“The dictatorship ended in ’83, but not for the trans community,” she said.

Rosario and Santa Fe, the provincial capital, in 2018 implemented a reparation policy for trans people who suffered persecution under the dictatorship. They remain the only cities in Argentina with such a program.

Boetti on May 17, 2018, during an International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia, and Transphobia ceremony over which then-Santa Fe Gov. Miguel Lifshitz presided became the first trans person in Argentina to receive reparations. Boetti receives a monthly pension of ARG 40,000 ($34.48) and a monthly stipend that pays for her health care.

Those who have received reparations successfully presented evidence to a judge that proved they suffered persecution and repression during the dictatorship. Boetti and Echenique pointed out that only 10 of the 50 trans women in Santa Fe who the dictatorship are known to have persecuted are still alive.

Post-dictatorship Argentina became global trans rights leader

Then-President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner in 2012 signed Argentina’s landmark Gender Identity Law that, among other things, allows trans and nonbinary people to legally change their gender without medical intervention. The country in 2010 extended marriage rights to same-sex couples.

Then-President Alberto Fernández, who is unrelated to Cristina Fernández, in 2020 signed the Trans Labor Quota Law, which set aside at least 1 percent of public sector jobs for trans people. Fernández in 2021 issued a decree that allowed nonbinary Argentines to choose an “X” gender marker on their National Identity Document or DNI.

Alba Rueda, a trans woman and well-known activist, in 2022 became Argentina’s special envoy for LGBTQ+ and intersex rights.

President Javier Milei has implemented several anti-trans measures since he took office in December 2023. These include a decree that restricts minors’ access to gender-affirming surgeries and hormone treatment and the dismissal of trans people who the government hired under the Trans Labor Quota Law.

Milei closed the National Institute Against Discrimination, Xenophobia, and Racism, a government agency known by the acronym INADI that provided support and resources to people who suffered discrimination based on sexual orientation, gender identity, and other factors. He also eliminated Argentina’s Women, Gender, and Diversity Ministry under which Rueda worked until Fernández left office.

Gay Congressman Esteban Paulón, a long-time LGBTQ+ activist, in January filed a criminal complaint against Milei after he linked the LGBTQ+ community to pedophilia and made other homophobic and transphobic comments during a speech at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland. Paulón is among those who attended the 2018 ceremony during which Boetti received her reparations.

Echenique noted the restoration of democracy in Argentina did not end anti-trans discrimination and persecution in the country.

“We came from the period of the dictatorship, but we do not forget that everything didn’t end then,” she said. “The persecutions were worse than what we suffered during the period of the dictatorship once democracy returned.”

Boetti said she does not think Argentina will once again become a dictatorship under Milei.

“But unfortunately, there is a lot of harassment and a lot of hate speech,” said Boetti.

“There are now laws that protect us, but there is a fight for sure,” added Echenique. “I don’t think we’ll go back to how things were before, and that’s why I again emphasize the importance of archiving memory in this.”

Cuban lawmakers are reportedly poised to consider a proposal that would allow transgender people to legally change the gender marker on their ID documents without surgery.

Cubadebate, a government-run website, on May 11 referenced the proposal in an article about an International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia, and Transphobia march in Havana that the National Center for Sexual Education organized.

Mariela Castro, the daughter of former Cuban President Raúl Castro who spearheads LGBTQ issues on the island, is CENESEX’s director.

Cubadebate notes the National Assembly in July will consider an amendment to the country’s Civil Registry Law that “for the first time would allow citizens to determine the sex on their identification cards without the need for a court order or gender assignment surgery.”

Argentina, Uruguay, Germany, and Malta are among the countries that allow trans people to legally change their name and gender without surgery.

Cuba’s national health care system has offered free sex-reassignment surgery since 2008, but activists who are critical of Mariela Castro and CENESEX have said access to these procedures is limited. Mariela Castro, who is also a member of the National Assembly, in 2013 voted against a measure to add sexual orientation to Cuba’s labor code because it did not include gender identity.

The Cuban constitution bans discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity, among other factors. Authorities routinely harass and detain activists who publicly criticize the government.

While global powers negotiate with Iran’s regime under Ayatollah Ali Khamenei to curb its advancing nuclear program, the oppressed LGBTQ+ community is building and operating a secret underground network to resist state-coerced sex reassignment surgeries. 

These surgeries, mandated for gay and lesbian people as a state-sanctioned alternative to execution for homosexuality, are part of Iran’s penal code that criminalizes consensual same-sex sexual relations. The network provides safe houses, forged identification documents, and covert communication channels to protect members from government raids and imprisonment.

Precise data on LGBTQ+ people prosecuted in Iran for resisting state-coerced sex reassignment surgeries over the past decade remains elusive, as the regime’s opaque judicial system obscures such cases under vague charges like “corruption on earth” or “sodomy.” NGOs, including 6Rang, report that thousands of gay and lesbian Iranians face pressure to undergo surgeries to avoid execution for same-sex conduct, with resistance often leading to arrests or harassment for violating gender norms.

Zahra Seddiqi Hamedani and Elham Choubdar, two prominent activists, in 2022 were sentenced to death for their social media advocacy, charged with “corruption” and “human trafficking,” though their convictions were overturned in 2023. Similarly, Rezvaneh Mohammadi in 2019 received a five-year sentence for promoting “homosexual relations,” a charge hinting at resistance to the regime’s heteronormative mandates.

Arsham Parsi in 2003 escalated his clandestine fight for Iran’s LGBTQ+ community by launching Voice Celebration, a secret Yahoo chat group where 50 queer Iranians, using aliases, exchanged coded messages to evade the regime’s surveillance. Operating like operatives in a shadow network, participants shared text messages about human rights and survival tactics, knowing a single breach could lead to torture or execution. Parsi, then 23, orchestrated the group’s encrypted communications, building a virtual lifeline that connected isolated individuals across the country until his cover was nearly blown, forcing a desperate escape in early 2005.

Parsi in an exchange with the Los Angeles Blade revealed a defiant undercurrent in Iran, a movement too elusive to be called traditional resistance yet pulsing with covert rebellion against the regime. 

The state’s relentless push to force gay men into coerced surgeries — marketed as a “solution” to their sexuality — seeks to erase their identities through enforced conformity. Parsi, steering the International Railroad for Queer Refugees, disclosed how queer Iranians fight back with clandestine measures: Underground education to counter state propaganda, discreet psychological support to fortify resilience, and encrypted networks to forge secret alliances. These efforts, veiled to evade regime detection, dismantle the state’s narrative with every hidden signal and guarded connection.

“We are working to create a true grassroots resistance by empowering people to understand their identity, seek safe alternatives, and reclaim their agency despite the oppressive context,” said Parsi. “The Iranian regime’s policies are built on denial of sexual orientation and a forced alignment with a binary gender model.” 

“Rather than recognizing gay, lesbian, or bisexual individuals, the system pressures them — particularly gay men — to undergo irreversible surgeries in order to be legally tolerated,” he added. “This systemic violence creates deep psychological harm and compels many to resist, even quietly, to protect their truth. The lack of legal recognition and the threat of arrest, harassment, or blackmail fuels the underground defiance we see today. It’s not only resistance for survival — it’s a rejection of state-imposed identity suppression.”

IRQR, guided by Parsi, for nearly two decades has operated as a lifeline, orchestrating daring escapes and running a covert network for Iran’s hunted queer community. 

Parsi said his work relies on secret, encrypted channels — meticulously managed to avoid detection — to funnel at-risk individuals to safety, smuggle life-saving information, secure hidden safe houses, and deliver emotional support. Every operation faces threats not only from the regime’s security forces but also from Basij militia operatives who masquerade as queer individuals to infiltrate networks, heightening the peril for those marked by their identities.

Black-clad Basij militia members respond at the first signs of defiance; tearing through crowds on motorcycles with batons and guns at the ready, poised to crush any challenge to Iran’s regime. These paramilitary volunteers, bound by fierce loyalty to the Islamic Republic, serve as the state’s enforcers, their plainclothes operatives slipping into dissident networks to root out the defiant. 

The Basij fill queer Iranians with dread; their so-called morality patrols and digital traps stalking those who dare to exist outside the regime’s rigid norms.

“Their goal is not only to gather intelligence but to undermine, divide, and cancel the work of activists and organizations like ours,” said Parsi. “This divide-and-conquer strategy is designed to break solidarity and generate mistrust.” 

“We have seen numerous cases where trusted circles were compromised by these informants, and it has made our work — and survival — even more complex,” he further noted. “Despite this, we persist. Through our underground connections, we have helped thousands of queer Iranians seek safety, community, and ultimately, freedom.”

Parsi told the Blade that international support — through funding, advocacy, policy pressure, or amplifying his stories — can significantly strengthen his work to protect Iran’s persecuted queer community. He emphasized IRQR operates with limited resources, making global solidarity essential to improve outreach, enhance safety measures, and respond swiftly to those in need. Parsi underscored such support brings visibility to the crisis in Iran, reminding those at risk they are not forgotten while exerting pressure on a regime that thrives on silence and fear.

One of the things that Parsi’s underground network offers is online workshops that educate queer Iranians about how they can remain beyond the regime’s reach. 

He said these sessions, designed for safety and accessibility, encompass peer support, mental health education, digital security training, and guidance on refugee pathways. Parsi explained the workshops give vulnerable Iranians the tools to navigate persecution, defy state surveillance, and pursue escape, exposing the resilience of a community under relentless scrutiny.

“Due to the high risk of persecution in Iran, traditional protests are not feasible,” said Parsi. “Instead, acts of resistance take quieter forms — like anonymous storytelling which are just as powerful in building awareness and connection within the community. While discreet, these activities help create a sense of solidarity and empowerment among queer Iranians.”

Parsi, undeterred by Iran’s unyielding regime, asserted with measured confidence that while underground acts of defiance — living authentically, supporting one another, resisting forced medicalisation — may not shift policy overnight, they are already improving lives. He stressed these quiet rebellions that queer Iranians stage challenge the regime’s narrative of shame and invisibility, forging a resilient foundation for future change. Each act, Parsi emphasized, dismantles the regime’s grip, offering hope to those navigating a landscape of relentless oppression.

“At IRQR, we view each life saved, each network built, and each truth spoken as a small but powerful act of resistance,” said Parsi. “These are the seeds of future liberation. Over time, as they multiply and gain visibility — locally and internationally — they will help reshape the landscape for queer Iranians.”

ILGA Asia Executive Director Henry Koh said queer Iranians’ underground resistance is a powerful assertion of bodily autonomy and self-determination. He described it as a deeply courageous act in a regime where visibility invites immense personal risk, from arrest to execution. 

When asked by the Blade if the Iranian regime’s punitive measures against openly queer people fuel underground resistance, Koh responded unequivocally. 

“Absolutely,” he said. “The climate of criminalization and repression leaves little safe space for queer people to live openly. This forces many into secrecy or underground networks as a means of survival, resistance, and mutual support. Such conditions are not only unjust but also profoundly harmful to the well-being of LGBTIQ+ individuals.”

“It is important to distinguish between affirming gender-affirming care and any form of coercive medical intervention,” he added. “When states or authorities mandate medical procedures as a condition for recognition or safety, it constitutes a grave violation of human rights. Gender identity is deeply personal, and no institution should override an individual’s self-defined identity.”

The Chilean Chamber of Deputies on May 15 approved a report that recommends the immediate suspension of a program that provides psychosocial support to transgender and gender non-conforming children and adolescents and their parents.

The 56-31 vote in favor of the Investigation Commission No. 57’s recommendations for the Gender Identity Support Program sparked outrage among activists in Chile and around the world. Six lawmakers abstained.

The report proposes the Health Ministry issue a resolution against puberty blockers, cross-hormonalization, and other hormonal treatments for minors, regardless of whether they have been diagnosed with gender dysphoria. The report also suggests Chilean educational institutions should not respect trans students’ chosen names.

The report, among other recommendations, calls for a review of the background of all minors who are currently receiving hormone treatments. The report also calls for the reformulation of hormone therapy guidelines and sending this background information to the comptroller general.

Report ‘sets an ominous precedent’

Frente Amplio Congresswoman Emilia Schneider, the first trans woman elected to the Chilean Congress and a member of the commission, sharply criticized her colleagues who voted for the report.

“Today in the Chamber of Deputies the report of hatred against trans people was approved; a report that seeks to roll back programs so relevant for children, for youth, such as the Gender Identity Support Program; a program that, in addition, comes from the government of (the late-President) Sebastián Piñera,” Schneider told the Los Angeles Blade. ”This is unacceptable because the right-wing yields to the pressures of the ultra-right and leaves the trans community in a very complex position.”

Schneider noted “this report is not binding; that is, its recommendations do not necessarily have to be taken into account, but it sets an ominous precedent.” 

“We are going backwards on such basic issues as the recognition of the social name of trans students in educational establishments,” she said.

Ignacia Oyarzún, president of Organizing Trans Diversities, a Chilean trans rights group, echoed Schneider’s criticisms. commented to the Blade. 

“We regret today’s shameful action in the Chamber of Deputies, where the CEI-57 report issued by the Republican Party was approved in a context of lies, misinformation and misrepresentation of reality,” Oyarzún told the Blade. “This only promotes the regression of public policies and conquered rights that have managed to save the lives of thousands of children in the last time.” 

Oyarzún added the “slogan ‘children first’ proves to be an empty phrase without content used by those who today promote measures that push to suicide a significant number of children for the fact of being trans.”

The Movement for Homosexual Integration and Liberation, a Chilean LGBTQ+ rights group known by the acronym Movilh also condemned the approval of the report, calling it “transphobic” and accusing the commission of omitting the opinions of organizations and families that support the current policies. 

Movilh notes lawmakers approved both the Gender Identity Law and Circular 812, which promotes respect for trans students’ rights, within the framework of an agreement with the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights.

“The text of the approved report is scandalous, because it seeks to take away the access to health to trans minors, including denying them the psychosocial accompaniment that also includes their respective families,” said María José Cumplido, executive director of Fundación Iguales, another Chilean LGBTQ+ advocacy group. “Likewise, it attempts against school inclusion, since it intends to eliminate something as essential as the use of the social name in educational spaces. In short, it takes away rights and freedoms to trans people, especially to minors.”

Cumplido, like Schneider, pointed out that “although its content is not binding, we will be alert to the political and legislative consequences that it may produce and we will continue working to avoid setbacks with respect to the rights of trans people.”

The report’s approval reflects a global trend that has seen neighboring Argentina, the U.S., and other countries reserve policies for trans and nonbinary young people. The Peruvian Health Ministry recently classified gender identity as a mental illness, and lawmakers have passed a law that prevents trans people from using public restrooms based on their identity.

Experts and human rights activists warn the suspension of Chile’s Gender Identity Support Program and other programs could adversely impact the mental health of trans and nonbinary children who already face high levels of discrimination and are at heightened risk to die by suicide.

“We will defend the Gender Identity Support Program and the right to exist of trans children and youth across the country,” said Schneider. “I want to reassure the trans families of our country that we will not rest until our rights are respected and that we can continue advancing because there is still much to be conquered.”

El 17 de mayo se conmemora a nivel mundial el Día Internacional contra la Homofobia, Transfobia y Bifobia, recordando la eliminación de la homosexualidad como enfermedad mental por parte de la Organización Mundial de la Salud en 1990. Sin embargo, esta fecha también se ha convertido en un espacio de denuncia ante la violencia estructural e institucional que sigue afectando a la población LGBTQ+ en muchos países, incluido El Salvador.

Este año, la marcha conmemorativa del 17 de mayo en San Salvador fue más reducida que en ocasiones anteriores. Decenas de personas se reunieron para alzar su voz a pesar del temor creciente entre quienes integran la diversidad sexual y de género. 

Las amenazas no son nuevas, pero sí más frecuentes en el contexto actual. 

Activistas, colectivas y organizaciones de derechos humanos denuncian que el gobierno de Nayib Bukele ha profundizado un discurso y una práctica anti-derechos. Para muchas de estas personas, la visibilidad se ha vuelto sinónimo de riesgo.

Desde la Asociación ASPIDH, Valeria Mejía, coordinadora de monitoreo y evaluación, expresó que “a inicios de 2025, el presidente Nayib Bukele y su gobierno oficializaron una postura anti-derechos, profundizando las amenazas estructurales contra los derechos humanos en El Salvador”. Alegan que esto ha generado retrocesos concretos para la comunidad LGBTQ+.

Mónica Hernández, directora ejecutiva de ASPIDH, ha sido enfática en sus declaraciones. 

“Se está silenciando a las organizaciones defensoras de derechos humanos a través de amenazas o restricciones legales”, afirmó. Y exigió al gobierno restituir los mecanismos que protegían a la población diversa.

Una de las luchas históricas aún sin respuesta es la aprobación de una ley de identidad de género. Actualmente, las personas trans no pueden modificar su nombre y género en sus documentos legales, lo que las expone a tratos humillantes en hospitales, centros educativos, juzgados y otras instituciones públicas.

La falta de una legislación que apoye a las personas trans sobre su identidad de género sigue siendo una afectación, por lo que sufren discriminación institucionalizada, en hospitales, centros educativos, juzgados, entre otros, donde suelen enfrentar trato discriminatorio o negación de servicios por no coincidir su identidad de género con sus documentos legales, mencionó una vocera de la Mesa por Una Ley de Identidad.

En la marcha de este año, las calles no se llenaron como en otras ocasiones. El miedo a la criminalización fue evidente. 

“Los agentes del CAM me dijeron que con este régimen me podían acusar de ser pandillera solo por ser trans y andar tatuada”, declaró una participante, temblorosa, al Los Angeles Blade.

A pesar del temor, hubo presencia. Algunas organizaciones de base y colectivos de clase trabajadora mostraron su solidaridad. Entre ellas, el Movimiento por la Defensa de los Derechos Humanos de la Clase Trabajadora, quienes acompañan el caso de Carolina Escobar, una mujer trans despedida injustamente del ISDEMU.

Escobar también estuvo en la marcha. 

“Hay que permanecer unidas las minorías, yo estoy acá a pesar de que he sufrido persecución por parte de la Policía Nacional Civil, por dar seguimiento a los casos de despidos injustificados del ISDEMU”, comentó.

La analista política y activista Bessy Ríos de la organización De La Mano Contigo no se mostró optimista con el panorama. 

“Hay que prepararse para el peor de los escenarios y crear redes de apoyo entre nosotros”, recalcó durante la jornada conmemorativa.

La colectiva feminista también acompañó la marcha y compartió con otros colectivos mensajes de unidad. 

“En tiempos difíciles, es cuando debemos unirnos más”, dijo una joven activista con una pañoleta verde en su rostro.

La represión no solo se percibe en las calles. Desde hace meses, muchas organizaciones LGBTQ+ han denunciado bloqueos al financiamiento internacional que sostenía proyectos de apoyo, atención psicológica y asesoría legal. Sin esos fondos, la lucha se vuelve más cuesta arriba.

Además, la anunciada Ley de Agentes Extranjeros —todavía en discusión— amenaza con imponer un impuesto del 30 por ciento a las donaciones provenientes del extranjero. Esto pondría en jaque a decenas de ONG que trabajan directamente con poblaciones vulnerables, incluida la diversidad sexual.

La consigna en esta fecha ha sido clara: la lucha no se detiene. Incluso con menos recursos y bajo amenazas, quienes se organizaron para conmemorar el 17 de mayo lo hicieron con la firme convicción de que los derechos humanos no se negocian.

Desde las pancartas hasta las intervenciones públicas, el mensaje fue contundente: el Estado salvadoreño debe cesar toda forma de discriminación hacia las personas LGBTQ+ y garantizar políticas inclusivas que aseguren su acceso a la salud, la educación, la justicia y el empleo.

En cada paso, se entretejía el recuerdo de quienes ya no están, y el deseo ferviente de un futuro distinto. 

“Marchamos por quienes no pudieron llegar hoy, por quienes tienen miedo, por quienes ya no están. Seguiremos exigiendo respeto y dignidad”, expresó una activista.

Pope Leo XIV’s election has sparked global reactions, but his appointment has struck a deeper chord in Peru.

The now-pontiff served for years as bishop of Chiclayo, a city in northern Peru. For LGBTQ+ leaders and activists in the country, Leo represents a figure who, while unlikely to overhaul church doctrine, could signal a shift towards a less hostile and more open Catholic Church.

“The fact that the new pope lived and served pastorally in Peru is no small thing,” said George Hale, director of Promsex, an advocacy group that is based in Lima, the Peruvian capital. “Leo XIV is deeply familiar with inequality, abuses of power, popular religiosity, and the pain of a society scarred by classism and exclusion. His support for victims of the Sodalitium scandal showed a courageous figure willing to listen when others remained silent.”

The Sodalitium of Christian Life, a Peruvian Catholic lay group implicated in cases of sexual and psychological abuse against minors, became one of the church’s worst scandals in Latin America. Leo’s direct involvement in sanctioning those responsible — and his central role in the group’s eventual dissolution — was widely viewed as a sign of his commitment to reform from within.

Former Congressman Alberto de Belaunde, one of Peru’s few openly gay political figures, also welcomed Leo’s election, describing his trajectory as “good news within the Vatican.” De Belaunde emphasized Leo’s time at the Pontifical Catholic University of Peru, where he served on the university’s assembly as the church’s representative.

“Unlike other pontifical universities, the PUCP is progressive and diverse,” De Belaunde said. “Monsignor Prevost always demonstrated a remarkable ability to dialogue and showed respect for differing views. That speaks volumes about both his intellectual and pastoral approach.”

The question still remains: How much could the church change under Leo’s papacy when it comes to LGBTQ+ rights?

“Sometimes, even just a change in tone makes a difference,” De Belaunde noted. “I grew up under the influence of Pope John Paul II and Bishop Cipriani, both known for confrontational rhetoric. When the pope says things like ‘Who am I to judge?’ — it doesn’t change doctrine, but it humanizes the discourse. And that matters.”

De Belaunde specifically referred to Pope Francis’s 2013 comments about gay priests. (The Vatican’s tone on LGBTQ+ and intersex issues softened under Francis’s papacy, even though church teachings on homosexuality did not change.)

“There are very conservative factions within the church, outright enemies of our rights,” said Congresswoman Susel Paredes, who is a lesbian. “But there’s also space for love of neighbor, as Jesus taught. Even if Pope Leo XIV were to chart a path toward full inclusion of LGBTQ people, resistance would remain. These things don’t change overnight.”

Paredes also highlighted Francis’s legacy — especially his vision of a synodal church. The Argentine-born pontiff who died on April 21 was Leo’s direct mentor.

“Pope Francis spoke of a church where ‘everyone, everyone, everyone’ walks together without distinction,” she said. “Leo XIV was already part of that vision when he worked in some of Peru’s poorest areas. That gives us hope and reason to watch his papacy with expectation.”

Activists, however, are clear-eyed about the limits of symbolic change.

“He (Leo) doesn’t appear to be a hostile figure,” Hale said. “But he’s not pushing for radical reform either. He won’t lead the fight for same-sex marriage or trans rights. But his more humane tone — his closeness to those on the margins — can help de-escalate hate speech, especially in a country like ours.”

Hale also pointed to a recent gesture from the new Leo that raised concerns: His public support for the Peruvian bishops’ statement opposing a court ruling that granted Ana Estrada, a woman with a degenerative disease, the right to die with dignity through euthanasia.

“By endorsing that statement, he reaffirmed official doctrine. And while he may be compassionate, he’s still aligned with traditional positions on some key issues,” Hale said. “That’s why we insist: We’re not expecting a revolution, but a shift in tone matters.”

Peru does not recognize same-sex marriages, and transgender people lack legal protections. Expectations about Leo’s papacy remain measured because church rhetoric remains a roadblock to civil rights.

“Rights are granted by laws, and the separation of church and state must remain fundamental,” said Paredes. “That’s where progress happens, in secular legislation.”

“Yes — it’s a breath of fresh air to have a pope who doesn’t slam the door shut, who has walked with Peru’s most excluded,” she added. “That gives us encouragement to keep going.”

Former Uruguayan President José “Pepe” Mujica died on Tuesday. He was 89.

Mujica, a farmer, was a member of Tupamaros National Liberation Movement, a leftist guerrilla group that carried out bank robberies and bombings and kidnapped politicians and businessmen in the South American country during the 1960s and 1970s.

Mujica spent nearly 15 years in prison. The right-wing military dictatorship that governed Uruguay from 1973-1985 tortured him and held him in solitary confinement for a decade.

Mujica in 1989 joined the Movement of Popular Participation, a party that is part of the Broad Front, a leftist political coalition. Mujica was Uruguay’s president from 2010-2015.

Laws that extended marriage rights to same-sex couples and legalized abortion took effect in 2013 and 2012 respectively. Mujica in 2013 also signed a law that legalized recreational marijuana in Uruguay.

Mujica earlier this year announced he would not undergo further treatment for esophagus cancer that had spread to his liver. The AP notes he died in his small house outside of Montevideo, the Uruguayan capital.

“With profound pain we announced that our friend Pepe Mujica has died,” said Uruguayan President Yamandú Orsi, who currently leads the Broad Front, on X. “President, activist, guide, and leader. We are going to miss you very much, dear old man. Thank you for everything that you gave us and for your profound love for your people.”

Esteban Paulón, a gay congressman in neighboring Argentina, celebrated Mujica as a “guide” for “Latin American progressivism.”

“He made humility, honesty and austerity his hallmarks,” said Paulón on social media.

La Joven Cuba se publicó esta nota en su sitio web el 12 de mayo

Por NORGE ESPINOSA MENDOZA | En el calendario cubano, mayo es un mes cargado de fechas singulares y múltiples celebraciones. Desde su primer día, marcado por el tradicional desfile que recuerda a los mártires de Chicago como tributo a los trabajadores del mundo, pasando por el Día de las Madres, el Día Internacional de los Museos y el Día de África, entre muchas otras fechas. Se trata de una agenda cargada de memorias, consignas, festejos públicos o más domésticos que se concentran en esas cinco semanas.

La incorporación a todo ello del reconocimiento en nuestro país del 17 de mayo como Día Internacional contra la Homofobia, la Transfobia y la Bifobia removió ese panorama, sobre todo porque se trata de la misma fecha en la que se celebra el Día del Campesino y la Reforma Agraria. Entre las diversas reacciones que desencadenó todo ello, sirva como ejemplo del estupor con el que parte de la población cubana reaccionó, este fragmento de las décimas humorísticas creadas por Ángel Rámiz, muy popular gracias a su personaje El Cabo Pantera:

«Que esto no es chisme ni brete
y me da genio, compay,
¡con tantos días que hay
escoger el 17!
Quiero que se me respete,
se me dé una explicación:
¿Ese día mis amistades
me dicen felicidades
por guajiro o maricón?»

La elección de ese día molestó, irritó, generó controversias, en las cuales algunos rememoraron que para el calendario nacional ese día fue distinguido en favor del campesinado por conmemorarse en tal fecha el asesinato de Niceto Pérez, en 1946. La supuesta contradicción entre la imagen del campesino viril, líder y símbolo del trabajador agrícola, fue un detonante que no hallaba justificación ni siquiera en el hecho de que se trataba de resaltar desde nuestro país algo fijado internacionalmente por la Organización Mundial de la Salud.

Como señala la nota que presenta en el Decimerón esos versos de Ángel Rámiz, no faltó quien rebautizara al 17 de mayo, en tono despectivo pero también desde los límites de nuestro incontenible choteo, como Día del Maricón. Y más allá de esa anécdota, hacer memoria sobre este asunto nos permite recalibrar las tensiones que, entre consignas, mitos, épica y sexualidad, han marcado la aparición, visibilidad o invisibilidad de las llamadas minorías que también componen el entramado social del país, así sea al borde o en los márgenes de la historia oficial.

En esos territorios opacos, borrosos, ambiguos, a los que solo en fechas recientes se ha empezado a mirar y estudiar sin los prejuicios que sigue padeciendo la mirada de regla y cartabón de la narrativa oficial, aún perduran incomodidades, interrogantes y tabúes, que cada vez que nos acercamos al 17 de mayo resucitan o recobran interés en las agendas y los debates acerca de política, historia, sexualidad y cuerpo nacional. Un cuerpo que ha aprendido a saberse diverso, no solo porque desde esas agendas se le brinde tal posibilidad, sino porque las condiciones extremas a las que ha sobrevivido le han permitido hallar sus propias armas y herramientas para tal hazaña.

La memoria de los cuerpos disidentes

La historia de los cuerpos sexuados ha ido emergiendo lentamente ante nosotros, gracias al empeño de investigadores, historiadores, activistas, artistas, y finalmente, gracias a la irrupción de esas voluntades y biografías en los espacios gubernamentales donde por años se pensó únicamente desde el prisma heteronormativo y patriarcal, que también fue abrazado por la Revolución.

Las normativas y la preocupación por el deslinde de esos cuerpos, por las prácticas no re/productivas ni de ganancia inmediata para la nueva causa, estallaron desde el inicio. Es el elemento que dispara sus dardos lo mismo contra los cuerpos negros y mulatos que se divierten la madrugada del puerto habanero durante los pocos minutos del documental PM (cuya censura en 1961 provocó las Palabras a los intelectuales), que contra los pasajes eróticos de El mundo alucinante, la novela que presentó Reinaldo Arenas al concurso de la UNEAC en 1967, y que no solo no ganó al premio, sino que aún no ha sido publicada en Cuba. Ese recelo también fue el que activó las redadas en la Rampa habanera, la Noche de las Tres P en 1961, o las expulsiones de las universidades y escuelas de arte de aquellos que vivían una sexualidad disidente en la misma década.

El I Congreso de Educación y Cultura formalizó ese rechazo, en 1971, y aseguró durante los años 70 un periodo de oscurecimiento y pobreza en numerosos espacios de la vida nacional durante el decenio. Esos recelos volvieron a aflorar durante los días del Mariel y la Embajada de Perú: declararse lesbiana u homosexual (el término gay no era frecuente en el habla cubana de esos días aún) era una especie de salvoconducto inmediato para quienes querían abandonar el país rumbo a los Estados Unidos, a pesar de la amenaza de golpiza, o tener que avanzar a través de una muchedumbre que gritaba ofensas homofóbicas con la misma intensidad con la que lanzaba huevos podridos contra esos «desafectos». La memoria tarda en sanar. La memoria del cuerpo también tiene su propio canal de biografías.

La memoria tarda en sanar. La memoria del cuerpo también tiene su propio canal de biografías.

Esas memorias han demorado en añadirse a la narrativa que repasa esos acontecimientos. Los libros y testimonios que en su mayoría dan fe de esos rechazos y traumas comenzaron a aparecer fuera de Cuba, ya en los 80, y la llegada de la generación de los marielitos a Estados Unidos de América abrió una brecha de información que dio pie a volúmenes y documentales (Improper Conduct, de 1984, sigue siendo el más famoso y debatido), y que desde nuestro aparato partidista se leyó o denunció como una maniobra difamatoria contra la Revolución.

Ha sido un proceso arduo, doloroso, en el que las zonas de apertura o la desaparición de leyes que criminalizaban la homosexualidad y la existencia de «seres extravagantes», fluctuaba entre períodos de flexibilidad intermitentes y la insistencia en recordar que el cuerpo revolucionario de ese Hombre Nuevo imaginado por Ernesto Ché Guevara era, sobre todo, un cuerpo impenetrable.

De la marginación al «activismo oficial»

A fines de esa década, en el albor mismo de los años 90, una nueva generación de artistas había empezado a quebrar esas nociones tan rígidas, y mediante el quehacer de poetas, narradores, teatristas y figuras de la plástica, el valor de lo ambiguo, de la duda, de la necesidad de saltar sobre vetos y censuras, así como la posibilidad de que los cuerpos fueran celebrados más allá de las campañas de la zafra, las misiones internacionalistas, y otras imágenes aprobadas por el discurso oficial, consiguió hacer más respirable al país para aquellas personas que habían tenido que reprimir palabras y gestos a fin de evitar la estigmatización que, en no pocos casos, incluía el no poder optar por determinadas carreras universitarias o puestos de trabajo.

En 1989 se crea, precisamente, el Centro Nacional de Educación Sexual (CENESEX), derivado del Grupo Nacional de Trabajo de Educación Sexual, fundado a instancias de la Federación de Mujeres Cubanas, en 1974. Durante esos últimos años de la década, el rostro del doctor Celestino Lajonchere y de la doctora alemana Monika Krause se habían ido abriendo paso en programas televisivos y en otros medios, como principales voceros de la campaña de educación sexual que en sus primeros momentos estaba más enfocada en la instrucción acerca del uso de métodos anticonceptivos o la prevención del embarazo en edad adolescente, hasta llegar al gran tema tabú que era el homosexualismo.

La publicación de libros como En defensa del amor y ¿Piensas ya en el amor? convirtieron a esos títulos en best-sellers, confirmando la necesidad de una variante menos anticuada, pacata y moralizante de la sexualidad, que vino acompañada por otros materiales y películas (como Siete pecas, el filme  de Hermann Zschoche sobre el amor juvenil que incluía una feliz escena de desnudos de la pareja protagónica, producido en la República Democrática Alemana en 1978) que apuntaban a un relajamiento y mejor comprensión de estos asuntos en nuestra cotidianidad. Los años 90 fueron de dureza inimaginada hasta entonces, tras la caída del Socialismo del Este. En ese nuevo ámbito de carencias, Cuba se tuvo que reinventar. Y sus cuerpos también lo hicieron.

Los años 90 fueron de dureza inimaginada hasta entonces, tras la caída del Socialismo del Este. En ese nuevo ámbito de carencias, Cuba se tuvo que reinventar.

En mayo de 2008, el CENESEX sale definitivamente del clóset. La institución, ya bajo la dirección de Mariela Castro Espín, lanza ese año su segunda celebración del Día Internacional contra la Homofobia, la Transfobia y la Bifobia, con una campaña de alcance nacional que va más allá de los muros de su sede en el Vedado, e inunda la Rampa y el Pabellón Cuba en un acontecimiento sin precedentes.

Las reacciones fueron también diversas y apasionadas, incluidas esas que pensaron que se le arrebataba al campesinado su fecha más importante. Pero se comenzó ahí a naturalizar un concepto que sin dudas relocalizó al homosexual, a la lesbiana, a las personas trans, a los pacientes de VIH/Sida y a todo ese conjunto de cuerpos diversos en el imaginario nacional.

Lo que habían logrado poco a poco los artistas y creadores, desde los primero cuentos y poemas sobre el asunto y luego Senel Paz con «El lobo, el bosque y el hombre nuevo» y su versión cinematográfica: Fresa y chocolate, hasta los atrevimientos de Ramón Silverio y su Centro Cultural El Mejunje (en Santa Clara), obtenía otro nivel de legitimidad otorgado por el peso político del linaje de la directora del CENESEX, y el apoyo logrado por ella de diversas entidades e instituciones para gestar lo que en aquel 17 de mayo apareció en los titulares no solo de Cuba, sino en numerosas partes del mundo.

De ese paso de avance, podía esperarse más. Y en cierta medida, con discusiones, aperturas, tibiezas y desafíos, eso fue lo que la comunidad cubana LGBTIQ del país vivió, dentro y fuera de los márgenes del CENESEX, hasta mayo de 2019, cuando lo conseguido y lo aún por lograr se estremeció, se detuvo, y desde mi perspectiva, no ha logrado conciliar sus extremos tras lo ocurrido aquel 11 de mayo.

Los silencios del presente

A seis años de aquella marcha convocada por los activistas LGBTIQ de Cuba como respuesta a la suspensión de la Conga por la Diversidad —versión reducida del Gay Pride que el CENESEX desde el 2008 había implantado como un pequeño desfile a lo largo de varias cuadras de la Rampa— estoy leyendo el libro que el investigador y activista puertorriqueño Wilfred Labiosa publicó en 2024 bajo el título La Revolución LGBT en Cuba, aparecido por el sello Deletrea en Estados Unidos de América.

Ese día, el 11 de mayo de 2019, no existe en tal volumen, a pesar de que su autor reconoce en su epílogo que lo culminó «sentado junto a la ventana de uno de los nuevos hoteles de La Habana», en mayo de 2022. En el prólogo, firmado por Camilo García López-Trigo y Alberto Roque, ligados en un determinado momento al CENESEX, tampoco puede localizarse esa fecha.

Pareciera que, como afirmé hace un par de años, ese día nunca existió, a la manera en que Dulce María Loynaz hablaba de otra fecha en uno de sus poemas. Pero sí existió, sucedió. Y curiosamente, la ausencia en un libro como este, que se supone una guía para quien quiera conocer el devenir de las personas LGBTIQ en la historia de Cuba, lo hace mucho más visible.

Pareciera que, como afirmé hace un par de años, ese día nunca existió, a la manera en que Dulce María Loynaz hablaba de otra fecha en uno de sus poemas.

El volumen de Labiosa, quien ha visitado nuestro país con el auspicio y beneplácito del CENESEX, es su carta de agradecimiento a esta institución. Desde la propia narrativa de blanqueamiento a conveniencia de ciertos aspectos de esa línea histórica que pretende abordar, anula la existencia de libros previos e investigaciones que lo preceden para evitar enumerar conflictos y tensiones que sí han evidenciado otros estudios sobre el tema como los realizados por Víctor Fowler, Jesús J. Barquet, Alberto Abreu, Jesús Jambrina, Francisco Morán, Yoandy Cabrera, Mabel Cuesta, y otros investigadores como José Quiroga, Carlos Espinosa, Rubén Ríos Ávila o Daniel Balderston.

El título se trata de una elección cuidadosa y suspicaz que elimina referentes, se ahorra citar ciertos autores y anécdotas, y así como se extiende en tratar de explicar qué fueron las Unidades Militares de Ayuda a la Producción, adelantándole al CENESEX la investigación prometida sobre esos campos de trabajo forzado en los que fueron recluidos entre 1965 y 1968 homosexuales, disidentes políticos y religiosos.

Lo esbozado se limita a un mapa que incluye no pocos agujeros negros, a fin de que otras probabilidades de activismos gestados fuera de esa institución sean al menos mencionados en este libro: una visión edulcorada y suavizante que recuerda la del documental En marcha con Mariela Castro, producido por HBO durante el breve idilio entre Cuba y Estados Unidos durante la administración Obama.

No hay aquí mención, digamos, de lo que revelaron los números de la revista Mariel, de la cual fue parte Reinaldo Arenas, o de un libro como Gays under Cuban Revolution, publicado por Young Allen en 1981 y que cuenta con traducción al español de 1984. Asegura no haber encontrado libros sobre las UMAPS, aunque existan varios sobre el tema: desde la novela Un ciervo herido, de Félix Luis Viera o La mueca de la paloma negra, de Jorge Ronet, hasta otros como La UMAP. El gulag castrista, de Enrique Ros (2004), o por supuesto, El cuerpo nunca olvida, de Abel Sierra Madero, el estudio más amplio sobre ese doloroso asunto, aparecido en 2022 por el sello Rialta Ediciones. Del mismo autor, Labiosa cita un artículo, pero no Del otro lado del espejo, ganador del Premio Casa de las Américas en 2006, que cubre zonas de las que asegura tampoco halló referencias.

A partir de ello, Labiosa asegura que su libro «es único, en la medida en que se enfoca únicamente en la comunidad LGBT viviendo en Cuba desde su fundación, durante la Revolución y bajo el liderato de los hermanos Castro». Asegura de inmediato que «muchos (tal vez todos) los libros y proyectos anteriores han tratado la homosexualidad como datos secundarios en entrevistas, o con aquellos que huyeron de Cuba y viven en España o en los Estados Unidos, específicamente en Nueva Jersey o la Florida». Al parecer no se detuvo, en la redacción de este libro que es parte de su investigación académica, en lo que como testimonio directo de su experiencia en la Isla apuntó, por ejemplo, Ernesto Cardenal sobre estos asuntos en las páginas de su muy conocido libro En Cuba, fechado en 1974.

Tal afirmación hubiera sido creíble a mediados o fines de los 80. Ya no. De entonces a acá han aparecido testimonios, libros, artículos y documentales que amplían ese circuito de referencias, que Labiosa desconoce o prefiere eludir. Habla de Fresa y chocolate, y de documentales como Mariposas en el andamio y Gay Cuba, pero ignora otros documentales previos, como No porque lo diga Fidel Castro (1988), el primero acerca de estos asuntos que produjo la Escuela Internacional de Cine de San Antonio de los Baños, o En busca de un espacio, estrenado en 1993, o los de Lizette Vila en ese periodo.

El encomiable trabajo de Ramón Silverio en El Mejunje ocupa aquí todo un capítulo, pero más allá de las simpatías de ese gestor cultural y comunitario, otros espacios y creadores también han hecho su obra, contra viento y marea, para incluir esas temáticas y discusiones, no pocas veces enfrentado censura y recelos que culminaron empujándolos al exilio, no simplemente «huyendo» de Cuba.

Labiosa desconoce o prefiere no comprometerse, y «olvida» eventos, exposiciones, proyectos, obras teatrales, la rehabilitación de autores como Lezama o Piñera y Arrufat, poemas, cuentos, antologías ya imprescindibles en este tipo de repaso. Habla de la aparición en Cuba del VIH Sida y de la reclusión a la que fueron sometidos sus primeros pacientes, pero no da referencia acerca de los soldados internacionalistas que trajeron de regreso el virus, historia revelada en obras como el filme El acompañante (Pavel Giroud, 2015) o en libros de Miguel Ángel Fraga.

Labiosa desconoce o prefiere no comprometerse, y «olvida» eventos, exposiciones, proyectos, obras teatrales, la rehabilitación de autores como Lezama o Piñera y Arrufat, poemas, cuentos, antologías ya imprescindibles en este tipo de repaso.

Varias de sus afirmaciones no vienen de pruebas documentales o referencias precisas, acerca de la célebre canción «Siboney», asegura, por ejemplo: «compuesta por Ernesto Lecuona se considera como una de las primeras sobre amor gay», añadiendo que esa fue la «canción principal» de Esther Borja, como si «Damisela encantadora» jamás hubiese existido en el repertorio de dicha cantante, en el que fue su imborrable carta de presentación. Menciona además a Pablo Milanés por su canción «El pecado original», a Amaury Pérez y a Silvio Rodríguez pero no a iconos como Bola de Nieve, Luis Carbonell, Sara González o Teresita Fernández.

Alineado a la narrativa del CENESEX, el libro de Labiosa, participante frecuente en las Jornadas de esa entidad, elude hablar del 11 de mayo de 2019, pero menciona de paso las manifestaciones de julio de 2021: «Curiosamente, miembros de la comunidad LGBT participaron en las protestas contra el gobierno cubano liderado por Miguel Díaz-Canel, en el verano de 2021, donde fueron encarceladas cientos de personas, muchas de las cuales siguen en prisión». Y se apresura en aclarar: «Las manifestaciones, que se llevaron a cabo en Estados Unidos, Europa y Cuba, fueron organizadas y subvencionadas por personas que residen fuera de Cuba. Los participantes ondearon banderas del orgullo LGBT y varios líderes llamaron la atención de noticieros de todo el mundo, pero no representan la totalidad y complejidad del movimiento LGBT en la patria».

Labiosa, a quien conocí en La Habana durante una de esas visitas, trata de simplificar la dimensión de lo ocurrido en 2021 mediante una comparación poco feliz con las protestas y represalias sufridas por quienes salieron a las calles durante los días del Black Lives Matter. El asunto es mucho más complicado y exige ir más allá en su análisis, tal y como dije a quienes intentaron etiquetar a lo sucedido en mayo del 2019 como un «Stonewall a la cubana».

El asunto es mucho más complicado y exige ir más allá en su análisis, tal y como dije a quienes intentaron etiquetar a lo sucedido en mayo del 2019 como un «Stonewall a la cubana».

Haciendo algunos ajustes mínimos, Labiosa apela a la misma narrativa que ante las cámaras de la Mesa Redonda del 13 de mayo de 2019 empleó Mariela Castro, junto a otros representantes del CENESEX para inferiorizar y demeritar a quienes bajaron desde el Parque Central hasta Malecón, movilizados por el simple anhelo de no perder el espacio público, el de la calle, tan simbólico en nuestro país, y que el propio CENESEX había ganado en su salida del clóset.

La intervención de la policía, la violencia de ese momento, la detención de varios activistas a los que ni siquiera se les permitió llegar a ese punto de convocatoria (el mismo en el cual, el 1 de mayo de 1995, marchamos algunos con la Rainbow Flag junto a activistas norteamericanos, para total sorpresa de los dirigentes  que no nos esperaban en tal acto), y la salida posterior del país de algunos a los cuales ese cerco los llevó a esa decisión tan dolorosa, es parte de un momento que no puede invisibilizarse porque sí[9].

A seis años de ese 11 de mayo, sigo sintiendo que algo se quebró ahí que no ha podido resolverse en diálogos posteriores, ni siquiera con la aprobación del matrimonio igualitario en Cuba. Bastó ese momento, frente al malecón, para desencadenar varios síntomas: la comunidad LGBTIQ, tan preterida y silenciada, podía organizarse en una aparición de ese tipo sin la anuencia oficial; el espacio de la calle podía, de pronto, ser un canal de otras demandas y símbolos.

En el libro de Labiosa, que intenta incluso reducir a un diagrama de power point el complejo proceso de lo que han vivido las personas LGBTIQ de Cuba, agradezco la aparición de algunos testimonios, porque insisto en creer que eso es lo que más necesitamos: reconocer las voces de los otros, de las otras personas que han vivido en su biografía estos años de un modo íntimo, con su dosis individual de épica, a despecho de quienes no les consideran parte de un modelo de vida donde la ideología y la moral pretenden limitar los derechos del cuerpo y el deseo.

Ello no aparece en su libro, donde hay testimonios de quienes se reconozcan como parte de ese núcleo de personas, pero no de quienes trabajan y crean fuera de los límites de la institución a la que él halaga sin recatos. Fiel al título de su libro, como si parafraseara al vuelo las célebres Palabras a los intelectuales, este es un repaso en tono generalmente didáctico a la idea de «Dentro de la Revolución LGBT en Cuba todo, fuera de la Revolución LGBT en Cuba, nada». Aunque ya sabemos que la frase literal pronunciada en la Biblioteca Nacional, no es exactamente esa.

En una línea, su autor afirma algo con lo cual, al menos, estoy de acuerdo: «El futuro de la comunidad LGBT en Cuba es incierto». Pero podemos decir eso acerca de muchas otras zonas de la sociedad cubana. Por encima de la disidencia o la normatividad del deseo, la pregunta que Cuba tiene ahora mismo ante sí y toda su sociedad incluye esa incertidumbre. Las loas a la directiva del Cenesex, escritas desde la comodidad del nuevo hotel donde se hospeda el autor, no logran disimular esas tensiones que hoy nos acompañan.

Recordar este día no es insistir en la herida abierta, en el momento incómodo, ni en la maniobra de hacerle el trabajo a ninguno de los extremos aquí enfrentados. La memoria dicta su propia noción de historia y sobrevivencia, y genera su propio activismo de cuerpos y recuerdos. En mi calendario personal, el 11 de mayo contiene numerosos significados y sobre todo, muchos nombres. Los de quienes me han acompañado en el activismo desde que aparecieron mis primeros textos y desde esa comunidad me hicieron sentir menos solo, hasta los de quienes, más allá de acuerdos y disensos, han jugado roles importantes en el rostro múltiple que ahora somos, y que tras ese 2019, el 2021, la pandemia y tantas nociones de la crisis interna y externa, multiplican estos ecos en las Cubas del mundo. En esa incertidumbre, recuerdo y vivo. Esa es la batalla. De la memoria, la del presente. Y la de nuestro futuro.

Norge Espinosa Mendoza es poeta, crítico y dramaturgo. Asesor teatral de la compañía El Público desde hace 20 años. Editor de las memorias del coreógrafo Ramiro Guerra y coautor del volumen dedicado a los Premios Nacionales de Teatro, que aún esperan por papel y tinta para ver la luz.

The College of Cardinals on Thursday elected Cardinal Robert Prevost from Chicago as the Catholic Church’s next pope.

Leo XIV’s election took place less than three weeks after Pope Francis died at Casa Santa Marta, his official residence at the Vatican. The conclave to choose his successor began on Wednesday.

Leo XIV, who was born in Chicago in 1955, is the first American pope.

Leo XIV was bishop of the Diocese of Chiclayo in Peru from 2015-2023. Francis made him a cardinal in 2023

“We salute the appointment of the new Pope Leo XVI,” said the U.S. Embassy in Peru on X. “A celebration for the world’s Catholics, and a joy especially shared between the American people and the Peruvian people. From Chicago to Chiclayo.”

U.S. Rep. Robert Garcia (D-Calif.), a gay man of Peruvian descent, also congratulated Leo XIV.

“As a Catholic and Peruvian American, I wish Pope Leo XIV strength as he steps into his role as a global and spiritual leader,” said the California Democrat on X. “He has demonstrated that he believes in justice for the poor and immigrants. May his leadership reflect these ideals as he spreads peace across the world.”

As a Catholic and Peruvian American, I wish Pope Leo XIV strength as he steps into his role as a global and spiritual leader. He has demonstrated that he believes in justice for the poor and immigrants. May his leadership reflect these ideals as he spreads peace across the world.

— Congressman Robert Garcia (@RepRobertGarcia) May 8, 2025

Francis died on April 21 at Casa Santa Marta, his official residence at the Vatican. The conclave to choose the Argentine pontiff’s successor began on Wednesday.

The Vatican’s tone on LGBTQ+ and intersex issues softened under Francis’s papacy, even though church teachings on homosexuality did not change.

Francis, among other things, described laws that criminalize consensual same-sex sexual relations as “unjust” and supported civil unions for gays and lesbians. Transgender people were among those who greeted Francis’s coffin at Rome’s St. Mary Major Basilica before his burial on April 26.

The New York Times reported Leo XIV in a 2012 speech to bishops specifically cited “homosexual lifestyle” and “alternative families comprised of same-sex partners and their adopted children” when he said Western media and popular culture has promoted “sympathy for beliefs and practices that are at odds with the gospel”

Marianne Duddy-Burke, executive director of DignityUSA, a group that represents LGBTQ+ Catholics, traveled to Rome for the conclave.

She told the Los Angeles Blade in a text message from St. Peter’s Square shortly after Leo XIV’s election that she “heard him speak” last October and “found him thoughtful and gently challenging.”

“[He] hasn’t said a lot since early 2010s. [I] hope he has evolved,” said Duddy-Burke. “His commitment to synodality is a hopeful sign.”

Her group later issued a statement.

“This election appears to signal a willingness to continue building on Pope Francis’s commitment to synodality and social justice,” said DignityUSA. “We pray that the needs of those whom our church has historically marginalized, including LGBTQ+ people and their families, will continue to be heard and addressed by the Vatican and other church leaders.”

Francis DeBernardo, executive director of New Ways Ministry, a Maryland-based LGBTQ+ Catholic organization, in a statement said there is “a special pride in having the first pope from the United States, his longtime ministry in Latin America most likely had an equally formative influence on his spirituality and approach to church issues.” DeBernardo, however, criticized Leo XIV’s 2012 comments.

“We pray that in the 13 years that have passed, 12 of which were under the papacy of Pope Francis, that his heart and mind have developed more progressively on LGBTQ+ issues, and we will take a wait-and-see attitude to see if that has happened,” he said.

“We pray that as our church transitions from 12 years of an historic papacy, Pope Leo XIV will continue the welcome and outreach to LGBTQ+ people which Pope Francis inaugurated,” added DeBernardo. “The healing that began with ‘Who am I to judge?’ needs to continue and grow to ‘Who am I, if not a friend to LGBTQ+ people?'” 

DignityUSA agreed.

“We express concern with the former Cardinal’s statements — as reported in the New York Times — in a 2012 address to bishops, where he stated that Western news media and popular culture fostered ‘sympathy for beliefs and practices that are at odds with the gospel’ including the ‘homosexual lifestyle’ and ‘alternative families comprised of same-sex partners and their adopted children.'” We note that this statement was made during the papacy of Benedict XVI, when doctrinal adherence appeared to be expected,” said the organization in its statement. “In addition, the voices of LGBTQ people were rarely heard at that level of church leadership. We pray that Pope Leo XIV will demonstrate a willingness to listen and grow as he begins his new role as the leader of the global church.”

Brazilian Jaime Braz Tarallo created a crossdresser studio 16 years ago so that his male clients could put their other identity into practice. He has worked with more than 5,500 people over the last decade.

According to the businessman, the most important thing is that they feel fulfilled to embody the opposite gender. 

“The goal is to be a woman; to feel like a woman,” he says. 

It’s a unique opportunity for men to express their feminine side in secrecy and away from judgment. Braz, who has also been a crossdresser for 25 years, shares his life with his alter ego, Lizz Camargo, an elegant lady in a blonde wig who agreed to talk about her business with the Washington Blade.

Camargo provides much more than a safe place to be transformed. She gives individual advice, offering make-up and costumes so that the experience is complete from start to finish. To ensure confidentiality, she sees clients one at a time and only by prior appointment to avoid encounters between clients when leaving and arriving at the venue. 

“They want to be feminine and made up, and I’m here to help them get their feminization wish fulfilled,” she says.

On the crossdresser studio’s website, the client chooses a package of services, each one covering a number of items and the duration of the experience, along with waxing and some additional services. Make-up and costumes are essential, and the clientele is mostly married men with children who describe themselves as heterosexual, but crossdress in secret.

Once they have chosen their package, they tell Camargo their weight, height, and shoe size, and she, based on her know-how, chooses a few pieces according to their measurements. On average, the client tries on four outfits and decides which one she likes best. If he’s a bear, Camargo says she has tricks to hide the hair on his legs and chest. 

The important thing is to always maintain femininity.

Camargo’s collection includes several costumes (dresses and lingerie), shoes (in men’s sizes), accessories that include gloves and hats, and 72 wigs of all colors to transform any man into a woman. The space has armchairs and a dressing table for makeup, all with a feminine touch. Packages start at $76, with prices gradually increasing according to what is offered.

Discretion is essential in this often misunderstood world, where the first contact is always made by phone. Even going to the studio is a slow process that can take months. Camargo explains her clients are opening up about their intimacy to someone, and this creates insecurity at first. 

“I would say that 80 percent of them arrive at the studio with a lot of apprehension, fear, and anxiety,” she said.

One of Camargo’s clients is Sheilla, who agreed to speak to the Blade as long as her real name was not revealed. For her, the moments as a crossdresser are something unique. 

“When I have the chance to be ‘in femme,’ because I am a convinced crossdresser, I feel fulfilled in my desire to see myself as a woman,” she said, having crossdressed for five years. 

Most of Camargo’s clients are recurrent, some coming to the studio twice a month, others less frequently. She sees around 25 people a month, and foreigners are not uncommon.

“I’ve seen around 15 people from more conservative countries like Portugal, Mexico, and Ireland, where crossdressing is forbidden, and also from Paraguay, Uruguay, Chile, and one person from the United States (Detroit),” she said.

Camargo explained they are people who have come to Brazil for work, and not specifically to dress in the opposite gender.

An outspoken crossdresser like Camargo is something of a rarity; even the outfits they wear are discreet, as if that were the intention. She, however, at least three times a year organizes dinners and cocktail parties at her studio that usually bring together around 50 crossdressers who feel comfortable around other people like her. Camargo four times a year also organizes Queen Cross Night, a party where crossdressers can walk on a catwalk as a team of judges watch them in a kind of beauty pageant.

“The objective is femininity, posture, and elegance — basic requirements — and of course the clothes she is wearing in the contest,” Camargo told the Blade. 

The caterpillar turns into a butterfly

The experienced crossdresser says that most of them start out in childhood, secretly wearing their mother’s or sister’s clothes. As adults, they do it at home when they are alone and often even get rid of the clothes afterwards so that their family doesn’t suspect anything. Contrary to what many people think, they don’t have to be gay but rather have a strong desire to feel like a woman, even if only for a few hours, although Camargo notices a tendency towards bisexuality. 

“I would say that 90 percent are bisexual, even without knowing it or accepting it; some have the desire to be in bed with another man,” she said.

Camargo notes that during the “metamorphosis” process her clients’ posture changes, with a subtle change in voice, way of walking, and behavior, as if the feminine soul were gradually emerging. Unlike gays, lesbians, and transgender people, crossdressers prefer secrecy, as if they were a secret sisterhood; it is not uncommon for Camargo to become a confidante to her clients, who sometimes ask her advice on whether they should reveal the secret to their wives. At this point, she points out to the client that his wife married his masculine side.

One of her oldest clients is 96-years-old, and his wife helped him build his feminine version. He found a way to express himself in the studio after she died five years ago.

Camargo said he looks identical to Queen Elizabeth after his transformation. Although rare, the studio sometimes receives couples where the wife is aware of her husband’s crossdressing side and deals with it well. 

“I see it as a privilege, a cross, with the acceptance and complicity of his wife, makes everything lighter and more interesting for him,” said Camargo.

Of the various package options, three are different. 

In one of them, the crossdresser can stay in the space for one night (wearing a nightgown); in another, she can go on an outing, such as going to a concert or a restaurant as a crossdresser, although it’s not very common. But one of the unique and desired by almost everyone, according to her, is a bridal day. 

“You become a bride, with make-up, false nails, and a wedding dress with a veil, wreath, and bouquet of flowers,” said Camargo. 

The experience, which lasts four and a half hours, costs around $144. Sheilla is one of those who had this experience, which also included photos taken outside.

When the fairy tale ends

The sessions last between three and five hours, depending on the package requested, because the make-up needs to be removed calmly and without a trace. During this process, Camargo often notices a look of sadness when the crossdresser start to come apart; it’s as if the enchantment has come to an end. That’s when the lady becomes a gentleman again, and everything returns to the way it was before.

Camargo can be seen as a visionary. 

In addition to having created an original business in Brazil, she also saw another way to diversify the enterprise for those outside of São Paulo. With this in mind, she travels to other cities and states to carry out a makeover: Bringing clothes, wigs, and shoes in her suitcase. The client in such a case pays for the package and travel expenses. Camargo said she has been to practically every state in Brazil.

Carla, a crossdresser who is another one of Camargo’s clients, lamented the lack of spaces for the crossdresser community.

“There should be more places like this, a lot of people have this desire, but they can’t make it happen,” she said. 

Sheilla suggested something more detailed. 

“It would be interesting to have a place just for us, like a pub or nightclub,” she said.

André Aram is a Brazilian freelance journalist who lives in Rio de Janeiro. He has worked for several media outlets in Brazil and abroad over the last several years. He is passionate about unusual stories and characters.