Lucas is 7 years old and two years ago he clearly told his mother: “I’m a boy.” With family support and guidance, he navigates these changes with spontaneity. His family says the main obstacle is that the State doesn’t fully comply with the Gender Identity Law. Presentes interviewed Ivana, his mother, and spoke with leaders of transgender children to tell his story. By Laura Hintze Photos: Ana Isla On Thursday, January 17th of this year, Lucas wrote a letter to the Civil Registry of Colón, in the province of Entre Ríos. “I, MB, request the rectification of my name and sex assigned at birth to that of my self-perception.” Below, he identified himself with his signature: Lucas B. The boy explains himself better outside of formalities: “My name is Lucas because I want to be,” he tells Presentes . Later, he adds that he chose that name because he saw it written on a wall. And that he also has a second name. He is Lucas Max. “I’m a bug stuck to things: half tick, half dragon,” he says. And he lists them: “Gnome, vampire, orc, goblin, spider, rat, the Tooth Fairy, monster. Lots of things.” Then he goes back to playing. Lucas is seven years old and, without realizing it, he's paraphrasing Susy Shock, the transvestite artist who advocates for children like him. Lucas also asserts his right to be a monster. And that others should be normal.

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Lucas Max was born on May 11, 2009, in Concepción del Uruguay, a few kilometers from Colón, where he had always lived. Until eight months into the pregnancy, his parents had expected a boy. The baby hadn't yet revealed himself, and they had already assumed, or perceived, that he would be a boy. But he was born with female genitalia. Throughout his childhood, Ivana, his mother, told him this story, as many mothers tell, time and again, the story of the pregnancy, the birth, and what he was like as a baby. When Ivana speaks, she doesn't confuse genders: she will never use feminine pronouns when referring to the child who, for the past two years, has been the boy he chose to be.

“We had very little information”

“Luz and I, her sister, thought she was going to be a lesbian. Because of her attitude. But also, we didn't know anything else, we didn't have any other terminology. We had very little information,” Ivana says. They weren't the only ones who noticed that this girl was very noticeable, that she was constantly trying to distinguish herself from the gender she had been assigned. Her 87-year-old great-grandmother, Chola, wasn't surprised when they told her that her great-granddaughter had decided to be Lucas. “And yes, the girl had something,” she said without alarm. Ivana, Luz, and Lucas are sitting at a gas station at the entrance to San Lorenzo, in the province of Santa Fe. Ivana and Luz were born there. A few years before Lucas was born, they moved to Colón, Entre Ríos, where they still live. Lucas's parents are separated. His father isn't present during the interview. However, he does appear throughout the story: he is also part of his son's and his family's transformation and visibility.

“Because I’m a kid”

Throughout the interview, the mother recalls various signs Lucas gave her over five years. The key was dance class. “He loved going, and then suddenly he didn't want to go anymore. It all escalated when they had to make the costumes for the dance: he started cutting his hair and begging not to go to class anymore.” Lucas had always hated his long hair. “He preferred to wear it tied up tightly. And when it was loose, he looked like Tarzan,” Luz remembers. “It was like torture for him, like it disgusted him.” The boy says he used to cut it himself, in clumps, and then hide the hair under the bed. “But they would sweep. And that's how they discovered my plan,” he confesses. One day, in July 2015, Ivana asked him what was wrong. Why had he stopped going to dance class? Was it his classmates? Was he bored? Lucas looked at her. The first answer he offered was that he wanted to cut his hair. “But like a boy,” he clarified. Then he went further and told his mom he didn't want to go to dance anymore because he wanted to be a boy. Ivana and Luz looked at each other and asked him why. Lucas, without being boastful, raised his five-year-old palms and answered, with the gesture and tone of stating the obvious: "Oh, Mom, because I'm a boy."

“We have a law and nobody knows about it.”

 Lucas and his mother travel to Buenos Aires every two weeks. They take a bus in the morning and arrive around siesta time. The trip is to see Nora Barqui, his psychologist. When they leave, they take the opportunity to explore the city. They hadn't been there before. Lucas says he went to Chinatown and almost went to the zoo. He also says his psychologist is very good. These two monthly trips have been a routine since February 2016. Initially, they were patients at the Pedro de Elizalde Children's Hospital, which had created an area for transgender children. "It helped us because it was our first support," says Ivana. She emphasizes that Lucas was admitted using his chosen name without being asked for his ID. That first and valuable experience lasted until June, when the family felt the therapy was no longer working. In August, they began seeing Nora. Ivana's health insurance doesn't cover Lucas's psychological treatment or the endocrinologists who will be visiting, as mandated by the Gender Identity and Comprehensive Health Law.

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“The health insurance company tells us we can see any therapist in the province, but there aren't any specialists like the ones he needs in Entre Ríos. The pediatricians and therapists in the city referred us, emphasizing that he must be seen by an authorized professional. And while they haven't responded to that, they aren't covering anything in Buenos Aires,” explains the mother. This means Ivana has to pay for travel and rely on agreements with each professional. While his psychologist covers all the treatment until the conflict is resolved, Lucas's mother is fighting for a pediatric endocrinologist specializing in gender issues, someone who can help her son understand his body and learn what kind of hormone inhibitors he needs. Ivana is adamant: “What we need is for them to comply with the law.”The only difficulties the family has encountered come from the adult world and institutions, both from those who don't understand or respect Lucas's transition, and from those who don't apply the Gender Identity Law. His mother emphasizes this because, in addition to the administrative hurdles, the provincial authorities have not reached out to her.

"How can you not listen to a creature?"

“We are a visible family and we hoped that someone would approach us to consult with us, help us, advise us. But nothing, nobody. It was very difficult for me to find help.” We have a law and nobody knows about it, not families, not schools, not hospitalsFor us, it's about recognizing children as people, understanding that they're not playing games or seeking attention. Don't you think it's incredibly important, given that there are adults who can't define themselves, that a child is giving you key information and so many signals? Lucas was five years old. How can you not listen to a child? How can you not listen to other children? Lucas's family understood from the very beginning that his request to be a boy wasn't a whim or a game. That stance meant a complete change in their lives: from starting to call him by the name he chose, to deciding how to position themselves in the world. More than once they'll mention that they are "a visible family." Everyone who is close to Lucas came out of the closet for him. “We decided it. It’s not about exposing him, but about not hiding him. I introduce myself as Lucas’s mother, a transgender boy. He knows it and says it: I’m a trans boy. And if we have to explain it, we explain it. And if not, we don’t.”

“There are trans children because there are families who are listening more and more.”

“What gives visibility and strength to transgender children is the support of their families. They already have a very clear understanding of their situation. It's the adults who don't understand and are left feeling lost, because the expectations they placed on their son or daughter from the moment of conception are at stake,” explained Bárbara Magarelli, coordinator of the Transgender Children's Secretariat of the Argentine Federation of Lesbians, Gays, Bisexuals, and Trans (FALGBT). “That's why the strongest aspect of our secretariat is supporting families.” It's not easy to talk about transgender children in quantitative terms. In fact, Magarelli clarifies: “It's not something new; rather, there are transgender children because there are more and more families who are listening.” The office she manages hasn't even been open a year yet, and its coordinator says it's overwhelmed. They've already received around thirty inquiries and have appointments scheduled for several more weeks. The calls the Secretariat receives come from all over the country. And in that sense, it's worth noting: it's not the same to talk about trans children in cities like Buenos Aires or Rosario, with their strong activist base, as it is in the interior of the country. “It's difficult, really. Because there's no willingness to understand on the part of many people and institutions. The fear of what others will say complicates things a lot,” Magarelli points out.

“There is a lack of will at many levels of the State”

It's also not the same to talk about trans boys as it is to talk about trans girls. “Sexist attitudes weigh much more heavily on biological males who choose to be girls. That's why I insist: Visibility goes hand in hand with acceptanceFor that purpose, We must educate, train, and respect the laws“In Argentina, we are protected: we have a globally recognized law, but there is no will at many levels of the government to enforce it. Families have to force compliance. That is what it means to support and stand with these children,” says Magarelli. Lucas’s mother understands that everything she is doing is to change the place society assigns to children, adults, and young people like Lucas. “Imagine how I felt when I learned about the life expectancy of a trans person. It’s horrible. I’m afraid of physical attacks, of discrimination.” “This is all our preparation.” Luz chimes in and admits that this is her biggest fear: “That someone will say something to her.” The day Lucas told her she was a boy, Ivana knew nothing about sexual diversity. She puts it this way: completely unaware. “I thought a trans person was a homosexual who preferred to dress as another gender. I deduced that without having any contact with them. But as soon as I started reading, I discovered what it was like, how they felt. And I realized that what’s happening to us isn’t strange at all.”

Listening to the children

Ivana learned in two ways. First, her son guided her: “He had answers to all our questions.” Then, she spent hours, days, and months sitting with books and websites; contacting the few similar families she could find, traveling to talks, seeking advice. She began to read and search for information. And that's how she came across Luana “Lulú,” the youngest trans girl to change her ID in Argentina. Her story It reached the media And her mother, Gabriela Mansilla, became an activist for the rights of transgender children. "I got in touch with Gaby because there comes a point when you need someone else to tell you if it's or isn't what you're thinking. There's uncertainty about your own self-confidence; you don't want to make a mistake. That's why it was important to talk to Gaby. She told me that if I intended to let him be himself, no one else would tell me who he was, no one but him. And well, that's how we started," Ivana explains.

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Gabriela Mansilla exclaims from the other end of the phone when Ivana and Lucas are mentioned. The first thing she remembers is the boy's mischievous face; the second, how well he got along with Luana. “My family broke with established norms. Even with the Gender Identity Law, many trans people are condemned to come out at 15 or 16 years old.” I stood before the world to say to listen to your sons, your daughters; no one knows who you are better than yourself.“,” Mansilla says. Today, Mansilla leads the civil association Free ChildhoodsFrom there, she supports more than twenty families. She emphasizes the importance of families being visible. “The key is in the reception, in listening. You see Luana today and you know it was the right path. Imagine if I had listened to the psychologist who told me to hit him and tell him he was a boy.” Ivana recalls those first months of transformation, when she was immersed in information: hours and hours of reading. “It was like an obsession that he be okay, to inform myself so I could support him. If I didn't prepare myself, an obstacle would appear that I wouldn't be able to overcome.” Ivana emphasizes again that she knew nothing. She didn't even know the law that protects her son. She says that at the time it didn't matter to her; there was only one vital impulse: that Lucas be Lucas, beyond any law.