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Based in the Buenos Aires neighborhood of La Boca, its name is a tribute to Paco Jamandreu, Evita's friend and personal couturier. They print t-shirts, mugs, and phone cases, which are sold at their shop and at marches. Diana Aravena, one of its members, denounces the escalation of violence against the trans community and argues for the need for a trans employment quota law.

By @Inflafloy

The shop window is overflowing, yet there's an order to the variety of creations: t-shirts, phone and tablet cases, mugs, pins, placemats, and even bibs are on display on the quiet Arzobispo Espinosa street in the La Boca neighborhood. It could be any old shop, but it only takes a few seconds to realize that activism reigns there. Evita and Perón, Cristina Fernández and Néstor Kirchner, or phrases like "It wasn't magic" or "No one wants it" (alluding to the former president's statement or the fight against gender violence) are emblazoned on each item for sale, sometimes with a pop aesthetic, sometimes with a classic feel. La Paquito, named after Evita's friend and personal couturier, Paco Jamandreu, was founded four years ago by the National Group of Queer Peronists with the goal of creating jobs for transgender people.

"I didn't even know the term trans"

The president of La Paquito is Diana Aravena (the first transgender candidate for the Buenos Aires City Legislature), a redhead with almost transparent green eyes, a measured way of speaking and gestures, who runs the shop, which also serves as a workshop, with sewing machines on display, worktables, various brochures, and posters. Diana appears from the back and the first thing she does is go outside to find "Yamita," the true owner of the place, a tiny black cat who keeps running away. With the cat in her arms, who offers no resistance, Diana settles into her chair and, finally, the conversation begins.

–How did your activism begin?

I came from activism in the National Movement of Recovered Companies, which is a consequence of the 2001 crisis and the "Out with them all" movement, and before that I had been quite active in unions. But in 2007 I learned about the existence of Putos Peronistas (Peronist Queers) and it seemed to me that it was the place to be. Before that, I wasn't specifically involved in LGBTQ+ activism. In fact, for a long time I was on and off; I wasn't trans full-time , let's say. I was still carrying the burden of other people's expectations, my own feelings of guilt, and the obligation, in order to survive, to get a job, to have to disguise myself as a gay man. And for many years I thought that what was happening to me was something strange; I didn't even know the term "trans." Having lived through adolescence under the dictatorship, everything was even more hidden, even more difficult. And in Putos Peronistas, I found a kind of synthesis of both activism experiences.

-Why are you calling them Peronist faggots?

The organization was created in La Matanza (Buenos Aires Province) to differentiate itself from other LGBTQ+ organizations, which are basically NGOs that, at one point, boast about and define themselves as apolitical and non-partisan. We feel they represent that very '90s idea that the State isn't necessary and the notion of "assimilated gay people." We intend to express something different. First, that change stems from politics, and especially from Peronism, which is the space of the excluded. And by using "faggot," which is how we're often insulted, we're reclaiming it, giving it new meaning. Furthermore, we want to express a class issue, to take responsibility for the demands of our poorest comrades, the gay people in the neighborhoods.

-You have a phrase that says "the gay man is a gorilla, the faggot is a Peronist."

That's understanding that the concept of "gay-friendly" is only "friendly" as long as you have good purchasing power. But if you're broke, you have to put up with the police, struggle to find a place to live, pay double at a hotel, and be turned away from gay clubs. In short, if you're dark-skinned or from the suburbs, your life is much harder. And we at Putos Peronistas also understand that our struggle, to achieve our rights, is part of the struggle of all the people. These aren't minority struggles, because these are rights that must be won.

-And in recent years several rights have been won, such as the Gender Identity Law or Equal Marriage.

Yes, there were great achievements, and we had a government we identified with. But much remains to be done, such as access to employment, which continues to be a problem. Furthermore, in the last year, there has been a resurgence of violence against our community. Last week, during the visit of the UN Special Rapporteur on Violence against Women, we from Putos Peronistas (Peronist Queers) presented our case and denounced the complicity of the Argentine State, both through action and inaction. We brought up the case of the murder of our comrade Estrella Belén Sánchez, the non-compliance with Article 11 of the Gender Identity Law, and also denounced the arbitrary detention of Milagro Sala, imprisoned for being a woman, poor, and Indigenous. The Special Rapporteur committed to meeting with national officials and requested information from our organizations to take action in international forums.

We demand a law for labor inclusion

-Does the cooperative emerge as a job alternative to sex work?

"We don't have a position against sex work. We're not abolitionists. We do say that there have to be alternatives. It's a terrible thing that trans people have no option but to be on the street, on the corner, on the highway. That's why we demand a law for labor inclusion, in both the public and private sectors. We presented a bill in 2013 that stalled there, and now we're in the middle of a campaign."

-Why do you think this project didn't move forward?

Because the Minister of Labor didn't agree with the quota law. And we told him it was the only way, because you can't convince employers with just awareness courses. So, within the group, we discussed what to do about it. First, because of our Peronist conviction that work is what organizes society, what gives you rights, social security, and access to education. And second, because work is what begins to break down discrimination, due to all the ignorance that exists. And it's worse in rural areas. The other day, a comrade from a small town in Santa Fe was telling me that they don't go out during the day; they practically don't know what daylight is. It's terrible. That's why we decided to form the cooperative, to see if we could find a job solution for our comrades, initially, and to demonstrate, and prove to ourselves, that what we're saying is true and that it works this way.

– How was the start?

– A colleague suggested the idea of ​​doing this: sublimation printing on different materials, like t-shirts, neoprene (like the cases), ceramic or plastic mugs, and other things. Cost-wise, it was better than any other option. We have two lines: the specifically Peronist one, which is our niche, and then custom orders. We get orders for a hundred t-shirts with a certain design, and ribbons or pins, and we make them. We participate in many fairs, political events, and marches, with a stand. A few things are sold through Facebook. We should focus more on that and find a distribution method. But there are some things we still need to learn.

– Had you done any of this?

– No, I learned through practice. From machine user manuals to YouTube tutorials. We always say we burned a ton of fabric to get the job done. And then we had to learn everything involved in running a business: how to buy, how to sell, how to set prices, and all the tax-related aspects.

– How many people work at the cooperative?

– We're not a fixed number. Between 8 and 12. It depends on a lot of things, on job demands, on whether people want to come. That's why we always insist on the government quotas. Because we already had the organizing experience, but to start from scratch when you don't have work experience, and you've always been out on the streets, with an individualistic culture, being alone against the world to earn a living, it's difficult to integrate into a collective. Then there's the expectation of some of our colleagues who say, "I'm starting to work and I'm going to have this much money every month," and that's not always the case because it varies.

To come out into the daylight

 -What has been the impact of La Paquito?

Regarding the neighborhood, when we arrived we were like a group of Martians who'd just gotten off the number 39 bus. I used to live in Constitución. People would walk by and peek in. But little by little we became part of it and we've gained some recognition. Our goal is for the work to be community-based and accessible to everyone. If we hold a workshop, it has to be open to the whole neighborhood. Here in La Boca, you can clearly see the disaster of Macri's administration. There are many housing problems, schools in ruins, and we want to help in any way we can. Obviously, the neighbor who was transphobic probably still is. Until last year we were also making photocopies, and next door there's a doctor's office for retirees, and the women would come by and we'd chat, and sometimes they'd even buy something. It was good that they came.

 – And what has been the transformation internally?

– The act of working itself changes you internally; you value yourself differently. It's about becoming aware that your place isn't just on the street, that you can access other things, go out into the light of day. As Cristina (Fernández) says, "empowering yourself." Or when you have a problem at the hospital, being able to speak up. The cooperative also functions as a space of support, to the extent that we can and with what we know. Paperwork issues, someone who was arrested. It's a bit like grassroots organizing. Most importantly: it gives you a different perspective on life.

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