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The trans and travesti population suffered—and continues to suffer—systematic persecution and human rights violations by the Argentine state. LGBTI organizations are promoting “Recognizing is Repairing,” a campaign that seeks to raise awareness of this violence and pass into law a bill for a special pension for survivors.

By: @Inflafoy

Photos: Ariel Gutraich

Norma Girardi is 63 years old, misses her transgender contemporaries, and considers herself a survivor. She was kicked out of her family home as a child, and her entire life has been marked by persecution. “I lived through the '60s and '70s; they were horrible times. We went out to work—prostitution was the only way out—and we had to carry a small bag with toothpaste and a towel because we knew we wouldn't come back. We'd end up in a cell, sleeping on those wet cement beds, because they would douse us with water, among other things.” Rape was also commonplace, as were insults and beatings.

She lost count of the number of times she was arrested. On more than one occasion, she spent a month in Devoto prison. If they weren't waiting for her when she got out, they'd lock her up again. "We preferred to be taken to Devoto because at the police stations they could make you disappear, do anything to you.".

She began her activism twenty years ago when she met the LGBTQ+ activist Lohana Berkins. “I was walking down Corrientes Avenue and she approached me to give me a leaflet and invite me to a march in Plaza de Mayo against the police edicts. She said: 'We'll be waiting for you, comrade.'” Together they founded ALLIT (Association for the Struggle for Transvestite and Transsexual Identity) and she was the organization's secretary until Lohana's death in February of this year.

When Lara Bertolini decided to embrace her trans identity, she was 23 years old and working as a sales assistant at a bank. What she gained in inner liberation she lost in rights: she had to quit her job, leave her home, and lost her social security. “These were all things I could access until then as a gay man, by hiding my identity,” she says. In the 90s, she started working as a public relations representative for an underground club in Buenos Aires. She earned more than at the bank, she could be herself, and for the first time, she felt like she belonged. Until she learned about the police edicts.

One night, the police raided the bar and took her to jail without any explanation. There, she learned about Article 2 and sections H and F. “The first was for being a transvestite, the second for prostitution, although at that time I wasn't yet a sex worker. But for the police, it was all the same.” She spent forty-eight hours in jail and lost her job again. It was the first time she was afraid they would kill her for who she was. The second time was when a police officer tried to rape her and she refused; he then pointed a gun at her head and pulled the trigger three times. There was a third time, when her face was disfigured for weeks. This year, she joined the Lohana Berkins Collective and is active with Abosex.

Marcela Tobaldi was homeless when the police arrested her and took her to the station. It was winter, and she had a bad cold. “My nose was running, and while they were handcuffing me, I asked the officers to let me clean myself. Not only did they refuse, but every time I asked, they tightened the handcuffs even more.” When she arrived at the station, her wrists were bleeding. They kept her locked in a cell for two days. “I have hundreds of stories like that, as do my comrades.” Today, she is an activist with the Florida Front.

Paula Arraigada was in Parque Patricios with other trans women when the police targeted one of them, ripped off her wig, and stripped her naked, forcing her to run in the middle of winter. When her companions began to scream for help, the police pointed a gun at them to silence them. She is also part of the Frente Florida (Florida Front) and, along with Tobaldi, emphasizes the importance of a trans employment quota law.

In addition to advocating for trans rights from various perspectives, Norma, Lara, Marcela, and Paula are among the survivors who are now part of “Recognizing is Repairing.” This campaign seeks to pass Bill 8194 into law, which establishes a special pension for victims of institutional violence based on gender identity. Developed by trans activists Marlene Wayar and Lohana Berkins, the bill was presented to the National Congress on October 6th with the signatures of 22 representatives. It is the result of a collective effort spearheaded by the organizations Abosex, Alitt, Futuro Transgenérico, and MAL (Anti-Discrimination Liberation Movement, created by Diana Sacayán, a trans activist murdered last year).

It is estimated that around 300 people nationwide could receive this pension: few reach old age; the life expectancy of a trans person is 35 years. “Many were killed, others died in poverty and from illness, and those who could left the country,” Emiliano Litardo, a member of Abosex, told Presentes

The “Recognize is Repair” campaign has already carried out several actions both on social media and in the streets (the most recent being a photo op in front of Congress ) and its goal is to continue gaining support across different political groups. “If necessary, we will personally go and speak with each representative and senator individually. We want them to see our faces and tell us whether they will support us or not,” says Bertolini.

“Our priority is to see if it can be addressed next year in the first committee to which the bill was referred, the Internal Security Committee. The bill currently has the signatures of over twenty legislators: most from the Front for Victory and the entire left-wing bloc. The signatures of the PRO and the UCR are still missing,” Litardo adds.

How to criminalize identities

The criminalization of sexual diversity, and particularly trans identities, was long enshrined in the Regulations for Contraventional Procedures of the Police Edict. Drafted in 1870 and in effect until 1996, the history of these edicts reveals the mechanisms of state surveillance and repression of identities considered abnormal, deviant , and immoral within the framework of the hygiene policies of the various governments in power, both de facto and democratic. Article 2, under the subheading "Scandal," contained sections F, H, and I. Section F penalized individuals "who exhibit themselves in public dressed or disguised in clothing of the opposite sex," section H penalized those who "publicly incite or offer sexual intercourse, without distinction of sex," and section I penalized "individuals known as perverts in the company of minors under 18 years of age."

“The edicts criminalized a person based on their identity. No malicious conduct was criminalized. In law, this is called the 'author's doctrine.' These individuals were penalized not by name, but by characterization, and so everything functioned by association: a common understanding was established. For example: the pervert was the homosexual, and the transvestite was a prostitute. These edicts tell a story, showing how the idea of ​​police security arose not to combat crime, but to maintain social order, to establish who was or was not allowed to move about in public spaces,” says Litardo.

In the collective books on the history and living conditions of the trans community, “La gesta del nombre propio” (2005) and “Cumbia, copeteo y lágrimas” (2008)—compiled by Lohana Berkins—it was found, among other things, that the most serious human rights violations, sanctioned by police edicts, occurred in the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires, where many trans women sought refuge from provincial violence and in search of work. “Killings on the highway were common, among other things. Here, the morality patrols operated systematically; they kept a close eye on the places where trans women were, but also on gay men. It was a recurring pattern,” Litardo adds.

In 1996, the 19th-century police edicts were replaced by the Contraventional Codes of Minor Offenses, and while archaic legal categories were eliminated, institutional violence is far from being eradicated. Representatives of various LGBTQ+ organizations report that in the last year, since President Mauricio Macri took office, this violence has intensified. They also state that the greatest danger to the trans population is in the provinces.

“So far this year there have been about 16 murders of trans women. There’s no official count, we’re just tallying them up; there were two last week. Mendoza and the north of the country are very dangerous places to be trans. So we say, let’s stop this for a while. Something has to be done now, and the reparations law is so that our surviving sisters—the few who are over forty or fifty and have lived through it all—can have a dignified old age,” says Lara Bertolini.

Norma Girardi was able to retire thanks to the previous government's moratorium and has been living off her performances and sewing work for some time now. She says she doesn't want anything for herself, but she does want something for her fellow victims. “We all have marks on our bodies from the violence. I want the girls who are left from my generation to be able to live their remaining years in peace. Because we were always denied everything.”.

What the project says

Bill 8164 is justified by the guideline set by Principle 28 of the Yogyakarta Principles  and the gender identity law enacted on May 9, 2012. It states that:

• A special pension will be granted to those who have been deprived of their liberty for reasons related to their gender identity as a result of the actions of the Federal Security Forces or by order of a judicial authority or the Public Ministry of national or federal jurisdiction.
• Those who have been subject to subsections “F”, “H”, and “I” of article 2 of the repealed Regulations of Contraventional Procedures of the Police Edict will be especially benefited.
• The benefit will be increased by 30% if the person suffered sexual violence.
• The benefit will be equal to the monthly remuneration assigned to Category D, Level O, General Grouping of the SINEP. (Ask how much money it is)
• The implementing body will be the Secretariat of Human Rights of the Ministry of Justice and Human Rights of the Nation.