Lánzate 2024

Lánzate 2024

Come to the political and cultural festival for Latinx changemakers who are building a future rooted in justice, liberation, and el Buenvivir.

HOW BOLIVIA IS HEALING THROUGH COLLECTIVE POWER: AN INTERVIEW WITH CANELA CRESPO

What happened between the November 2019 U.S. supported military coup in Bolivia and the elections in October of 2020? In this interview, Mijente spoke to Canela Crespo, a 27 year old member of the Columna Sur organization in Bolivia, which forms an integral part of the Movimiento Al Socialismo party (MAS). Canela was also a candidate for deputy for La Paz in last month’s elections, and she made some time to talk to us a bit about the lessons learned in this difficult year.

Mobilizations after the coup, 2019. Photo by Canela.

Mobilizations after the coup, 2019. Photo by Canela.

THE COUP

In November of last year, the head of Bolivia’s military called on Evo Morales to resign from the presidency. The coup was led by a far right faction that seized power and massacred protesters who were against it. While the vacancy of Evo Morales was complex and several non-right leaning groups also supported it; it was not the people that took charge in Bolivia, it was a conservative, racist, religiously fundamentalist right.

“We have had a bad time this year, I mean, we have really had a bad time,” says Canela over the pixelated Zoom call. “I remind you that Añez at the time of the coup entered the Government Palace with a Bible in hand, saying ‘at last the Bible returns to the palace.’” 

All Saints Day in Hayllani, Sacaba. Offerings for those who were killed during the massacre, 2020. Photo by Canela.

She is referring to Jeanine Añez who illegally ascended into power in place of Morales. Canela recalls the moments in the coup that were initiated with extreme violence including the public burning of the whipala by the coup leaders. The wiphala is a symbol and flag that represents not only Aymara and Andean communities but also all indigenus people of Abya Yala.

“Of course the coup had a clearly racist motive. Racist, fascist, sexist, all the bad ‘ists’ were there as an element,” she tells us. There are two massacres that are internationally known that took place in Sacaba and Senkata, but Canela assures us they are not the only ones that happened during the coup. One day before the massacre at Sacaba, Áñez signed a decree guaranteeing impunity for the Armed Forces.

“We have dozens of assassinated comrades. We have hundreds of unjustly detained and still hundreds of exiles. In San Julián we have deaths, in the southern part of the city of La Paz, we have deaths and disappearances,” she says. “People have been talking about how some families of the disappeared have sometimes even preferred to bury murdered people instead of registering the disappearances so as not to be intimidated later.”

RESTORING DEMOCRACY & THE STREETS

The elections in October of this year gave Luis Arce, a victory in Bolivia’s presidential election, with 55% of the votes against six rivals. This vote gave a win to the MAS party, of which Luis Arce is part of and served as minister of economy for 12 years under Morales.  

“Those votes mean many things,” shares Canela, “they mean a reaction to that fascist narrative, a reaction to religious fundamentalisms, a reaction to the burning of the wiphala. In other words, it was a vote based on identity.”

Canela during her campaign for deputy of La Paz, 2020. 

Canela tells us that the election results on October 18 were also a clear reaction to all the violence, all the impunity. So what is next for the MAS party and the people on their way to as she describes it, “recuperate their democracy”?

Previous to the coup, one of the mistakes of the MAS party, as Canela tells us, was that they had stopped maintaining the mobilization in the streets. “As a movement, as an instrument of social organizations, [the coup] found us demobilized,” says Canela. “This year has been a strong process of internal criticism, of self-criticism for us. We have had to reorganize ourselves, we have had to rearticulate our ways because we had no other option, because that has been the first form of resistance.”

In the last year, she says that they have worked on returning to their most democratic and essential forms, referring to the union assemblies, indigenous assemblies, farm workers assemblies, Black and working-class collective spaces, worker assemblies, etc. According to Canela, the days after the coup from November 10 to November 20, saw more district assemblies in the city of Alto than in the last ten years. 

“I think it was from this social articulation that we first managed to consolidate the date of the elections,” says Canela, recalling that the elections in Bolivia were supposed to take place after the coup on January 22, then on May 3, then on September 6. “And so the power of Añez, of the de facto government, of the coup government was being extended and extended.

Rallies to consolidate the date of the elections, 2020. Photo by Canela.

That resounding victory of October 18 was achieved first in the streets before the polls. Canela says that their challenge is to maintain that state of social mobilization. 

“Bolivia is a very politicized country, it is a country in which people tend towards social organization. I mean, if you sell candies on the street, you are affiliated with your Guild Federation. There is a very strong intention of social organization and that is a virtue,” shares Canela as she iterates how the candidate nominations for deputies and senators have been coming from these democratic collective spaces. “It also means that we must respond to those sectors articulated within the instrument.”

DEPATRIARCHALIZING

“We have to understand that patriarchy is a system that operates at a structural and systemic level in all the structures that exist, that is, in families, in political parties, in absolutely everything,” says Canela. “The MAS party is not exempt from that.”

She tells us that within the party they have had big discussions with their leaders and colleagues, challenging them for their machismo and their reproduction of their patriarchal privileges. Through their Constituent Assembly, a body of popularly elected representatives assembled for the purpose of drafting a constitution, they have included a process of de-patriarchalization. 

Women’s rally for political prisoners, June 17, 2020. Photo by Canela.

“What is de-patriarchalization?” Canela begins, “speaking from a plurinational state has opened up the possibility of starting a real process of de-patriarchalization. It means understanding that patriarchy is this system of oppression that has many intersections, right? I mean, we can’t stop seeing the colonial intersection, in other words, there is no dematerialization without decolonization…there is no de-patriarchalization without understanding that integral process must be anti-capitalist as well.”

She continues reflecting on the ways patriarchy operates by oppressing the least privileged sectors, which includes queer and trans communities. Canela cites Black american women’s movements from the 1970’s and on as her and her colleagues’ own site of learning about intersectionality and applying it to the realities of Bolivia. 

Just a few days ago the Ministry of Culture was reopened, (because the coup leaders had closed it). “This Ministry of Culture has a novelty,” says Canela. “It no longer only has a Vice Ministry of Decolonization, but now also has a Vice Ministry of De-patriarchalization.”

This has been accomplished through the women who have been pushing this for years from within. “The blow has also been very hard against our bodies, against our lives. The persecution against us has been especially violent,” recounts Canela.

ACCOUNTABILITY & STRUGGLE AGAINST FAR RIGHT

That is the main challenge,” Canela tells us, “At some point this year we stopped thinking about democracy, about our well-being, which are the main concepts in our Political Constitution; because we were in a context in which we were dying and we were being robbed. We have had massive unemployment and we have nothing to feed our families with. So, restoring that is the first challenge. But how do we sustain that?”

The second is maintaining social mobilization, because as Canela tells us, they are still being attacked by the right wing’s narrative and rhetoric. “That fascist discourse must be defeated. We must defeat this conservative and violent discourse of religious fundamentalisms.” Canela believes that mobilization in the streets is needed to achieve this. 

“It is necessary that all sectors of the population are involved in the management of the government. I believe that this is the way to ensure governance in the following year, because we continue in a very complicated context,” says Canela. In spite of the October 18 win, there are still shock and organized violent groups that are active.

In the last fourteen years of the MAS being in power, Canela says that they too, have been numbed. After the failed coup in 2008, they believed that they had defeated the fascist faction. They didn’t think they had eradicated racism, but they thought that at least people were now ashamed to be racist. All those naive thoughts fell apart during the coup, upon seeing the hordes of white conservatives in 4x4s, armed with clubs and beating any indigenous woman they saw in their polleras, or traditional clothing. 

MAS campaign trail, 2020. Photo by Canela.

“At that moment, we realized that our decolonization process had not really been as complex as we had thought and that it had to be deepened,” says Canela. “In other words, deepening the understanding that racism is one of the tools of the oppressive colonial system.”

Canela tells us that now they are re-entering, not to avenge themselves, but to seek justice. “Because justice is needed, right?” 

ADVICE

Canela considers numbness is the biggest enemy. “As I said before, we fell asleep at the wheel thinking that racism had diminished or that people were ashamed,” she says, “and I am very afraid that the same thing will happen in the United States now with the victory of the Democrats.”

Canela continues, “Trump is a whole monster. We all know it, no one is going to deny it. But something that [his rhetoric] did was arouse anger and indignation and criticism. And there have been great movements that came from that, that we also follow and admire with great force because they are organizing within the Empire.”

She says they see movements in the U.S. as a huge revindication and fear following Biden’s win, that things will return to how they were during the Obama era. 

“Obama for us has been just as disastrous for our people here in Latin America. He has been as disastrous as Trump or anyone else,” she says. “He fell asleep in the rhetoric of being a Democrat, of being Afro-descendant, that is, for many things, right?”

Canela considers it very dangerous, because the progressive is not necessarily anti-systemic, and thus, the systems of domination are maintained. “The system of capitalist domination is maintained, the system of colonial racist domination remains and the system of patriarchal domination is also maintained,” she says.

We must not lose the lucidity that has been achieved in recent years in the United States and across Abya Yala. Right now there are a lot of movements happening across Guatemala, Haiti, Chile, Peru and beyond. 

“What is happening today, these days in Peru, we are seeing it with great hope, because first of all, we have not seen such strong social mobilization in Peru for a long time. But we also see it as an echo of regional movements,” says Canela.

Bolivia had it’s elections on October 18th and a week later on the 25th, Chile voted to rewrite their constitution. Canela tells us that they have seen with great hope and enthusiasm how another country severely hit by neoliberalism like Chile, could finally overthrow its Pinochetist constitution. 

“We must not forget that, we must not stop talking about it, because we have to have all of us together,” says Canela. 

“Now diplomacy is not done only between governments, but is done above all between peoples. And that is why these spaces are important. That is why we need to continue talking, continue to recognize ourselves, continue complementing and feeding our processes. And helping us in solidarity in whatever way we can. Chile and Peru are extremely important at this time.”

SELF & COLLECTIVE CARE

In recent months, Canela and her colleagues have been very neglectful towards themselves, sleeping little, and while they’ve been able to accomplish a lot, she recognizes that it’s something that has to change. 

“There has been a lot of political persecution, there has been a lot of intimidation, so we have had to change our ways of relating completely,” she says. “In fact, we no longer call or write to each other or WhatsApp. We know that everything was tapped. So I think it has been really difficult this year and these last few days we’ve realized that we continue to maintain these precautions despite the change of government, but I think it is something healthy.” 

Canela says they still find ways to take care of each other. They have call networks, to check in that they have all made it home. Things that a year ago before the coup, they never thought to do. Now, in the process of restoration, there’s a lot of work ahead and must find ways to continue to care for themselves and each other.

Canela during her campaign, 2020.

“To return, to want to return, but to come back better is also to recover the future.”  Canela says that they are currently in a process of “cleaning house,” since the de facto government left behind everything in ruins. 

“The money of all the institutions has been spent. There are filthy corruption cases.” she says. 

“We have to make these public institutions work again, for the plurinational State, for decolonization, de-patriarchalization and everything that we really dream of, for our well being.

[part of the series: RESISTENCIAS BEYOND BORDERS by Ebony Bailey and xime izquierdo ugaz]

OUR FLOWERS WHILE WE’RE HERE: Trans folks reflect on Trans Day of Remembrance and beyond

Trans communities across the world have had to do the work of holding their own memory for a long time. November is the month of Trans Awareness and today, November 20 as the last day of #transawareness week we observe Trans Day of Remembrance (TDOR). In conmemoration of this month and TDOR in particular, we spoke to trans artists, organizers, archivists, sex workers and educators throughout Abya Yala. 

Odalys Elizabeth Cayambe Bustamante and members of Vivir Libre, Ecuador.

HISTORY

Trans Day of Remembrance started in 1999 by a transgender activist named Gwendolyn Ann Smith. It started as a vigil in honor of another trans woman who was murdered in Allston, Massachusetts in 1998. Her name was Rita Hester. “The press covered her death as the death of a man and they did not use her name, but rather her legal [dead] name,” says Cecilia Gentili, (42) transgender rights activist and storyteller born in Argentina and based in New York. 

Gwendolyn started a website called Remembering Our Dead, which memorialized people who had died as a direct result of gender-based violence. The list now lives on the Trans Day of Remembrance website

Cecilia, also known for her iconic role as Miss Orlando in the series POSE, shares that as a child she was very queer. “My mother says that at three, three and a half years old, I told her that I was not a boy. I didn’t tell her that I was a girl. I told her that I was not a boy.”

Cecilia Gentili, photo by Serena Jara, New York.

When she was five years old in kindergarten, they had to call her into a meeting and explain that she couldn’t use the girls’ bathroom. Cecilia recounts, “and I said ‘but why?’ and they told me, ‘because you are not a girl’. And I said, ‘but how am I not a girl?’ and well, they showed me photos and everything. And I think that was the first time that I learned to negotiate with the rest of society and I said well, if you want, I’ll go to the boy’s bathroom.” She laughs, “sometimes I had fun in the boys’ bathroom.”

As trans people, memory, dissidence, refusal and action for our community are things that traverse us everyday since childhood, not just once a year. 

“It feels like these days [Trans Day of Remembrance, Trans Day of Action…] are supposed to remind cis people that we are here, that we exist. Because as a trans person, my trans community is in my head at all times.” says Librada Gonzales Fernandez (26), a trans woman, independent archivist creator of Cubane Cuir and pajara Cubana currently based between Hialeah and Brooklyn. “It is what I am enraptured with when I am researching.“

Cisgender people have some morbidity around these days. “It seems to me that they love to listen to stories of pain, regret, uprooting and violence,” shares Cecilia. For her, it is important to make an effort on this day to remember that our community is “resistant, strong, unique, very united, and generous.” While she takes the time to talk about the grief of losing so many people in the community to transphobia she also makes time to talk about the beauty of the community.

REMEMBRANCE

“Each life, each death means a step of resistance, a step of struggle for our freedom, that is why it is important to remember them,” says Santiago Balvin Gutierrez (31), a non binary transmasculine activist based in Huancayo, Perú part of the collective, No Tengo Nombre. “Because their life meant for other trans people, a space to be recognized, to be understood, to find space in a world that does not allow us to be.”

In Peru, when a trans person dies, there is never justice for their death. And even in death the name and pronouns of the person is often not respected, especially if it makes the news and often by family members. 

“It seems crucial to me to have a memory of who they were, because trans people are murdered with impunity, they are murdered and there is no justice for them, there is no reparation for their deaths,” says Santiago. “A sister dies and is forgotten, a week ago Shisha, a trans woman from Huancayo died and like others who died like Sandy or Denisse, their deaths have not had justice, nothing has been done to find her the culprits. Justice will not only be just for them, but for all.”

From Mexico we spoke to Lia, who is a siren. “When I say that I am a siren, I mean that my voice is the center of my existence. My voice that speaks, sounds and shouts to demand justice in this country so full of pain, desolation and forgetfulness: Mexico,” she says.

Lia is 31 years old, and was born and raised in Mexico. “Water gives me everything because the sea brings everything and takes everything away, that is my connection with trans memory,” she says. “A sea full of names, lives and voices turned into echo – memory of all of us who, even without a body, are life because we remember them and they live in us.”

Lia, photo by Kanllo, Mexico.

Trans people have always been at the forefront of movements. From anti-racist, anti-fascist to of course LGBTQIA movements; and yet have rarely been acknowledged for their legacies and certainly not been afforded the same opportunities that were born of these struggles as cis LGBTIA people have across the world. In Ecuador, the story is similar. 

“Trans people, gender non-conforming people were mainly the ones who put their faces, bodies, to repeal of subsection 1 of article 516 that criminalized homosexuality with 4 to 8 years in jail,” says Victor Garcia (25), a nonbinary queer person always in resistance and part of Guayaqueer, a queer activist and artistic platform based in Guayaquil, Ecuador. “And they were the ones who suffered the most harassment, the ones who were disappeared, who were killed, tortured, thrown into the rivers.”

Homosexuality was decriminilized in 1997, but there were crimes against humanity that happened as trans folks continued fighting. Victor tells us that it was trans folks also who  managed to articulate as the first collective and community organizations for trans women and sex workers.

“When I think about trans memory, I think about that path that was traveled. I think of the suffering, I think of the victories. I think of the community,” he says.

We also spoke to Odalys Elizabeth Cayambe Bustamante, a trans woman who promotes rights in defense of trans LGBTI people through her organization, Vivir Libres in Ecuador. “How do I connect to memory from memory itself? Because I am a victim, I am a victim of the nineties, I am forty years old, I have been in sex work since I was eleven years old.”

Odalys experienced all the discrimination in the face of decriminalization. “I am a woman who went to jail since I was 12 years old, regardless of my childhood for practicing sex work, for being a trans woman. For living in a space that society considered was not my own and was not mine.”

As an archivist of queer histories, Librada experiences a range of emotions in encountering the stories of Cuban queer people. “I think remembrance has a specific significance in interpretation or re-interpretation rather. How are queer people in the past, asking for us to take their stories, especially trans people, how are they asking us to take their stories and look at them for the first time through a trans lens?” 

Librada at the Queer Liberation March, 2019, New York.

So many stories that Librada has found in her research of Cuban Queer History, have been coded as stories about homosexual men and not of trans women. “And that’s the part in which I’m crying, and the part in which I’m laughing is because I finally found my community, through some kind of temporal connection,” she says. “I am connecting with Cuban queer people through space and time through people that are on the island. And also through people who are not here with us anymore, who are in the past and who I feel a strong sense of community with.”

ACTIONS

“I see it as a day full of love,” says Joanna Cifredo, a 33 year old trans woman organizer, comedian and lead visionary behind Camp Albizu who is based in Bayamon, Puerto Rico. 

Joanna Cifredo, Puerto Rico.

“Where my trans family gathers. Although it is a day of mourning, that love that I feel for my sisters is what fills my soul and sustains me and keeps me in the fight.”

Today in Puerto Rico, Joanna tells us that there are several actions happening including “un grito” in front of the Capitol at 4 which will continue into the night as well many services and vigils today in some churches that affirm the trans community. 

In New York, Cecilia shares that there’s a lot of virtual events. She’s personally attending 3 virtual events in the day time and going to an in person, socially distanced event in the Bronx called “Courageous Conversations: Trans Day of Remembrance,” with BAADBronx. “And then, I’m going to come home and I’m going to take a hot bath with my little candles and my little things, and maybe a little wine with a Xanax and relax.”

Today is also an opportunity to celebrate lives, she tells us. “Give us our flowers when we are alive. When I am dead I will not be able to smell them because I am already dead…Now is when I will be able to enjoy them,” says Cecilia. 

One of the things she likes to do is always send flowers to her friends, especially her Black trans friends. In the US the vast majority of murders of trans people have been of Black trans women. According to Cecilia, there have been 34 murders of trans folks that we know of in the U.S. this year alone. 

She says it’s not a coincidence that Black trans women are the most affected. “Because it is not just transphobia, it is a mixture of three intersections which are transphobia, misogyny, and racism,” she says. “The hatred of freedom this person experienced when they decided to try to make that transition.”

Similarly in Argentina, beyond the progress, the establishing of the 1% quota for trans workers in civil service jobs, the violence continues. There were 69 hate crimes in just the first half of this year, 32 of which were murders committed by both civilians and state forces. Cecilia shares that most of these murders are of Indigenous trans women such as Tova women, and migrant women from Andean regions of South America like Bolivia and Peru. 

Santiago Balvin Gutierrez, Peru. 

In Peru, Santiago is organizing a virtual event called YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO FORGET US, which will be live at 4pm EST on the Facebook page of Chola Contravisual. This conversation gathers trans folks from different regions of Peru such as Cusco, Arequipa, Huancayo, Ica, Trujillo and Lima. Other actions that are being carried out is wheatpasting posters with the faces of our dead in public places throughout Peru. 

“Trans people are fighters and resilient, much of it for resisting in a world that does not want to see us live,” says Santiago. “That is why continuing to exist means telling this Cis-tem that it can’t mess with us, that we will continue to love each other and remind each other, that our motivation is to destroy and transgress what they imposed on us.”

In Ecuador, Odalys is organizing the First National Trans March with support of Victor from Guayaqueer and other organizations. Odalys tells us that the trans march is an initiative that comes from trans folks within the prison system, and that they’ve been planning for over a year with her organization, Vivir Libre. 

“We started to realize that the LGBTI Pride issue was completely lost,” says Odalys. “In other words, LGBTI pride worldwide is a “pride” that only makes visible the brands, club owners, etc… We forget Stonewall, we forget true remembrance. We forget that 51 years ago in New York, they were fighting for the right to life, a guarantee of life.”

Posters for the First National Trans March in Ecuador by Guayaqueer.

For Lia and Librada, it’s a day to also spend gathered with loved ones. “The first action happens in the heart, because we remember with the heart rather than with the mind,” says Lia. “Mexico is the second country in Abya Yala to kill more trans people. Remembrance is daily but today is an even more special day, of direct action: virtual and street protests to shout Justice and name our own: Alessa, Paola, Itzel, ItzaYana, Patricia, Carmen, Raúl, Cheva, Lorena, Fernando , diva, Tiney and more and more names.”

In Hialeah, where Librada has been pushed to return to her family’s home due to the pandemic, there have not been many events, although yesterday she attended a virtual event, she doesn’t think it should be limited to one day a year. “I think we should be constantly organizing to remember trans people, to keep trans people, to remember the legacy of trans people in our history, especially in culture,” she says. “So what are the events that are happening? The same events that are happening everyday; my community and my friends that I hang out with, trans people who support me and who I support, it’s my community, the one that’s always there, not the people that show up once a year.”

RAGE

“I think of myself as a young person who reviews the past and realizes everything people before us didn’t have, all the things that people who have really helped us have gone through,” says Victor. He says that it’s like the memory of those people, the LGBTQ people who are no longer with us, is inside of us. “We feel them when they insult us, we feel it when they yell at us.

This emotional charge that we carry is within us.”

Despite these situations, trans communities have still fought for self-determination, to create communities across Abya Yala. Today during the National March in Ecuador, Victor and his friends have made a mini church and mini prosecutor’s office that they plan to burn in public.

Victor Garcia, photo by Sara Donoso, member of Guayaqueer, Ecuador.

“So it’s like a transformative rage. It is not a rage like the rage of machismo that only destroys. It is a feminist rage that helps you,” Victor shares. He has a friend that says, “It is like a rage that helps to break down walls and does not dig holes where other people can fall.”

Anger must be shown. Cecilia screams alone when she’s in her house, “I yell at anyone,” she says, “or I yell at the television.” She often asks herself, what do I do with all this anger and pain that I have inside? “Anger, as long as it moves you and as long as your voice moves anger from the inside out, can be a very constructive thing,” she tells us.

For Lia, it is important to transform her anger into radical tenderness, because she believes violence must be transgressed with affection. “The affection that they denied us, that they took from us and that hurt us so much,” she says. 

And for Santiago, his anger used to be sadness. “My sadness turned into rage.” Trans folks are in constant survival mode and Santiago uses the rage now to survive. “Anger is living, before a world that wants us to die,” he says.

DREAMS

Joanna: “I dream of a future where trans people are occupying spaces of power, that we are making decisions. Because I believe that the future is non binary, the future is trans and I feel that there is a revolution happening in humanity. I mean, queers are rising up everywhere. And I feel a strong femme energy, a trans femme energy.”

Odalys Elizabeth Cayambe Bustamante, photo by Vivir Libres, Ecuador.

Odalys: “What do I dream of? Oh God! I dream of serving in a public office. I will fight to the end for my people until a legal guarantee is fulfilled. I don’t want anything to happen to them that happened to me. And if at some point I acted in a bad way in life, it is for my whole life that I led in the streets and that nobody can blame me for, nobody. But we are all entitled to a second chance and I asked for it. And society blamed me and I paid for it. So, what I aspire to and want for my colleagues, the street sex workers, a regularization like there is there in Colombia, on the street for sex workers, to protect us from violence. I have to fight to the end for sex workers. I have to seek education so that the new generation begins to educate themselves. And above all, that they be honest in their truth, and in their principles.”

Santiago: “The future I dream of for me is to continue sharing and expanding the feeling of not remaining silent in the face of violence. It is to continue spreading the importance of ourselves, not to remain silent or satisfied with what we have to live for being trans people. I would like that in the future we can continue organizing together to resist, that we be more in this fight, that precariousness is not something that prevents us from being, living, but that it unites us to resist. Let being on the sidelines be our form of resistance and transgression, from there to burn any form of oppression, from there, to seek our happiness, among ourselves. Sometimes I think we can’t handle something as big as these structures, but we can destroy part of them. I don’t know if I will see a change for us, but I know that we are building that path for those who follow, so that other trans people can rise up in the face of the unfair context that touches them.”

Victor: “First, the State of Ecuador must apologize, it is necessary for the State to ask for a pardon and give reparations to trans people who are gradually disappearing without taking anything, no recognition or anything. It’s time for this historical apology to exist. I dream that there be streets, squares, monuments with names of important trans people so that all people in society know that trans people are also part of us, of our city, of our social fabric, of our culture, of our context. It also sends a message to the new future generations of the present that they are being taken into account, not because we care about the opinion of the State or anything, but because it is very significant. I see the future as an inclusive, intersectional future, where we all just develop and do our best. For a common good, because trans people are capable of doing everything, to study, to work, to show themselves as they really are.”

Librada: “A future in which trans people are not just phenomenons to be studied but are afforded instead the humanity that cis people are afforded everyday. I do not want trans people to just be part of an infographic or a moniker for people performing social justice on social media. I want us to be able to access housing, to be able to access basic human rights. I ask that the cis community and our allies trust us to tell our stories. Trust us to demand what we need. Trust us to lead the way and the path towards our own liberation. To stop telling our stories as if they understood everything about being trans to stop creating infrastructure and laws for trans people with such a paternalistic approach, to let us lead the way. Let us talk for ourselves. And the liberation of trans people is intrinsically tied to the liberation of Black folks, Indigenous people, people of color, disabled people, of sex workers, etc. Trans people have had to remember their own histories for the longest time. We are the ones that are going to preserve past generations’ stories and past generations’ struggles and we need to trust the future to do the same with us. We have always been safekeeping our own legacies, which is why we have to work in communities. Because our own communities are who is gonna project us into the future. And on this day of TDOR I make space for the trans people who historically have not had the resources that they deserve to thrive. So that we may reclaim queer histories and reinterpret them through our own trans sensitivities and that the same is done for us.”

Cecilia and friends from Transgrediendo, New York.

Cecilia: “I dream of safety. And safety is different for everyone. For example, for me, safety is to walk quietly in the street without anyone bothering me or saying anything to me, or shouting at me. Safety means a house for other people. Safety means an inflow of money for other people. Safety means a healthy relationship. We all have different ideas of safety, but most of the transgender and queer people in my life have never experienced an ideal sense of security. Many of us have not known what it feels like to feel safe. And it is something that everyone should have the opportunity to experience and maintain throughout their lives. But most of us have never met safety and are used to living without it. Sometimes I don’t even think about being happy. But I always think about being safe and I believe that when one, in my case, when I feel safe is when I feel happiest. So I never ask for happiness. I always ask for security. Because security gives me a peace of mind and it makes me feel at ease. And when I’m at ease, I feel happier. And happiness is the goal right? And I dream of a community that can flourish and thrive and get to experience all the things that they want in life. And that’s what I want.”

Lia: “I daydream because I already see it! I dream that we continue to advance like elephants, giants hand in hand, opening cracks in this cis-tem that is so lethal for our trans*cestral lives, because we have always existed. I dream that we turn on lights to illuminate more roads rather than on photographs of another murdered. I dream of seeing more children smile for the joy of being recognized. I dream of making only beginnings and no more endings. Remembrance is also to say that we are alive, that we exist and resist and that together, from the skin, we will make the state tremble, because justice is not expected, it is woven and the justice that is woven, is found. Everything we trans people do is historical because we are cracks in a world of structures. We were, are and will be trans resistance. The affective is the effective. Radical tenderness is transformation.”

Special thanks to xime izquierdo ugaz for highlighting various TransLatina activists in Latino America.

We’ve made it to Election Day. What comes after is up to all of us.

It’s election day. Finally.

We expect to see record breaking turnout of voters in this cycle, millions having already participated and many more who will show up at the polls on Tuesday. The contours of the outcome are taking shape and we believe there will be a resounding showing of people who are often counted out in these types of affairs.

Let’s just say it plain, because it is our reality, the last period has cost us a great deal. Just over the last year, millions of us have lost our livelihood, childcare, time with friends and family. We have lost family and community members. Some of us are getting to this moment struggling to catch our breath, some of us are crawling to the finish line hoping it is some respite, unsure of what the outcome will be and even more anxious about what happens after. Pero gente, we are here. Estamos presente. Let’s show up and show out. 

As Mijente we set off over a year ago with the mandate that we would not sit on the sidelines at this moment. We determined that Trump was a significant enough threat that we needed to dedicate time and effort to ensuring he would be a one-term President. We deliberated, debated and made decisions on how to engage. Like many others across the country, we’ve made room and made sacrifices to carry out those decisions. 

Amidst the obstacles and tragedies of 2020 we have contacted more than a million voters and millions more online. In addition to getting Trump out in battleground states, we are working to elect local candidates that if elected could stop police agencies from collaborating with ICE, could end cash-bail and pre-trial detention, and fight for our communities at every level of government. We are building our own infrastructure where political parties have failed to prioritize our people. We have brought that culture, ese espiritu chambeador and we have walked this path our own way, with our own sazón

We said it before and we will say it again. This was never about picking our savior. This was about setting the conditions in order to advance solutions to poverty, climate crisis, criminalization to name a few. Today as each of us play our respective role and take our sacred place – whether you are knocking on doors, preparing food, running for office, accompanying our little ones, cutting turf, calling your family to make sure they are voting, or wondering out loud when the hell all this is gonna end – I hope you know that this was also, always, always about us. What comes after is up to all of us. 

Each of us are of this time for a reason, we must remind ourselves that our ancestors faced down their share of great odds. And in these days of fall, passing that time of the year where the veil between what is present and what has passed is most thin the stakes of this time mirror this, where the veil between the things we most dream of and most fear are revealing themselves to us and only a thin veil separates very different fates. It is our turn and it is our time.

Over the next few hours and days, you may feel at times anxiousness, loss, ease and accomplishment. Know that whatever final tallies are, we must be vigilant to protect our victories. And rest assured, we will have them. When we take collective action to address the challenges of our time and place, we build power. Remember those accomplishments, those advances, the bonds that we build when we come together. Remember we are all ancestors in the making and we are leaving behind greater possibility for those who come after. What we face in this election is a threat to us all. We are engaged in the preservation of the democratic process, understanding that we have had to scratch and claw for our rights every step of the way, understanding its many flaws. At our core, we are most powerful when we are the most generous and when we can push for the common good. 

In the moments when I seek inspiration and guidance I think of the prospects of those of us who are often denigrated, overlooked and counted out storming the stage, upending the story and bending that long arc of history a little closer to justice. For that, I thank you. See you on the other side. 

Marisa Franco

Mijente Director