The Laura Moyano Trans Sociocultural Center in Córdoba was founded to fight against the social genocide of trans people. It offers a space to complete primary and secondary education. It also operates outside the center, in the so-called "red-light district." Presentes listened to the stories of the trans women who come to the center seeking to overcome the exclusion they face in another area: the exclusion from their rights. "We don't want handouts. We're asking for work!" By Alexis Oliva, from Córdoba. Photos: Micka Hubeli (Laura Moyano Trans Sociocultural Center). It's dusk on a gray Saturday as they arrive at the house in the Güemes neighborhood of Córdoba. Most are just waking up, because life on the streets is increasingly harsh for trans women forced to live off their bodies. Some enter the Trans Sociocultural Center with familiarity, others with timidity. The center is named after one of their peers: Laura Moyano. In the early hours of Saturday, July 25, 2015, Laura Moyano was strangled with a cable and struck in the face with a rock. Her body was found at a construction site in the Villa 9 de Julio neighborhood, northwest of the city of Córdoba. A year later, three brothers and the teenage girlfriend of one of them were arrested and charged with "aggravated homicide," but they were released after DNA evidence was presented. The crime remains unsolved.

[READ MORE: How the Justice System Acted in Hate Crimes: Laura Moyano]

“Laura Moyano represents the trans women of the most marginalized areas of Córdoba. In addition to being a sex worker, she did community work and was an active member of the soup kitchens during the social crisis of 2001. Her own comrades wanted to honor her and chose her name,” says Franco Bonino, a member of the Putos Peronistas group, which promoted this project.

Education and prevention of stigma

The Laura Moyano Trans Sociocultural Center opened its doors on March 31st. “A cry for equality in the face of pedagogical silence” is the motto that expresses one of the Center's tasks: literacy and educational support in various subjects so that trans people can complete primary or secondary school, in coordination with a blended learning program from the Provincial Ministry of Education. In addition, a team of psychologists provides therapeutic support for issues related to trans identity. “Although our members live their gender identity, social stigmas still cause them to feel shame because people look at them askance. And they are afraid of the police,” explains Bonino. “So, there is psychological work to be done to help them accept themselves as they are. And also to…” To challenge their idea of ​​femininity. Being a woman isn't about being a Barbie doll. It's also about who they are, and it's not about the physical but about what they feel.”. Around a long table, facing a blackboard, a dozen girls gather. They are at the Center for the first time. Almost all of them are Peruvian, and the possibility of finishing high school seems remote. They are there out of necessity, the same necessity that brought them here, fleeing marginalization and police harassment in their country. On a ping-pong table, a group of activists arranges bags of non-perishable food and several piles of clothing. These are donations, obtained through a social media campaign. They also give them condoms and a small amount of money, between 200 and 300 pesos, the proceeds from selling vegan food at local fairs, organized by the Peronist Cakes group. After the distribution, some of the girls stay for their Argentine history class. Others leave, because in a few hours they have to return to "work."

Social transvesticide

“If the girls don’t even have enough to eat, they won’t be able to finish high school. Their precarious situation also affects their means of subsistence and sometimes forces them to sell drugs. It’s a vicious cycle,” Franco explains. In a context where “workplace discrimination combines with the resurgence of transphobia and institutional violence” against this community, generating “a social transvesticide,” the urgent and priority task is to go out and find them where they work: on the street and at night. On a cold Friday at 9:30 p.m., the Laura Moyano Trans Center’s community outreach begins. It takes place outside the center’s doors and focuses on the area around the Mercado Norte in Córdoba. Franco Bonino, Anabella Romagnoli, Claudio García, and Micka Hubeli set up on the corner of Oncativo and Rivadavia streets. They hang a banner with Laura Moyano’s photo and split up to patrol the so-called “red-light district.”

Exclusion zone

In reality, it's an exclusion zone. There, trans women—a group for whom access to decent work, education, and healthcare is an urgent debt owed by the State—share the territory and its tensions with other women who survive by working in that area. For some, they are "sex workers." For others, people in situations of prostitution. The truth is that they were displaced to the streets after provincial law 10.060 against human trafficking prohibited brothels and strip clubs in 2012. When they made their first visit to the area six months ago, only a few dared to approach them to talk. At that time, the coordinators began distributing condoms and food packages. Natalia Bocanegra, a 39-year-old Peruvian woman, acted as a bridge to establish connections with the trans women. “We’re distrustful,” Natalia says. “Just because we’re trans women, they already assume we’re thieves, that we’re involved with drugs, that this and that. A mutual friend, Yohana, told me about the guys from the Center. One day when they arrived and were handing out bags of supplies, I watched them. I liked them, so I started spreading the word among the women and took them—almost all of them foreigners and a few from Córdoba, because they like me in the area. I’m very easygoing and I work hard, I don’t have any vices, I have principles, and they respect me somewhat.” At first, the demand overwhelmed them. Today, about twenty trans women gather shortly after starting their rounds. In just over two hours, they’ve handed out fifty bags of supplies, each accompanied by a box of 130 condoms. The gathering is very cathartic, but also a show of solidarity.

We don't want handouts. We want jobs!

Natalia says people judge them. They criticize them, saying, "It's easy money." She knows that "easy" is a word that has almost no connection to her life. "Because it might be 'fast' money, but it's not easy. It's easy to talk. We don't get jobs. I don't ask for a secretarial position. You go to a fruit and vegetable stand or a kiosk, and they won't hire you. I have good hands, I work, and I know how to do everything. Yet, they won't hire me as a kitchen assistant. We don't want handouts. We're asking for work! And we have to come here, stand in the street, and get caught in the cold, with every crazy person who passes by throwing bottles at us and yelling things."

The "tour" of assaults

A car with two or three guys inside, windows down, drives past two girls. They circle the block, slow down, one of them leans out and yells, “Fucking trans women!” Others stop, call out to them, feign interest, then suddenly speed off and disappear. “The usual, a kind of city tour of the red-light district, provoking the girls,” Franco says with a look of annoyance. “They make them go and talk, they insult them, but they’re not going to buy anything. Besides, if there are two or more of them, the girls won’t go up to the bar. And then there are the gang attacks. There’s a morbid thrill in going to beat them up, because there’s impunity. Like what happened to that girl in the General Paz neighborhood…” At the end of April, a trans woman from Tucumán was brutally beaten on Américo Vespucio Street, next to the provincial Neuropsychiatric Hospital. The attack was filmed and posted on Facebook by the assailants themselves. Their contacts made it go viral. The video shows the harassment, the vicious punch to the face, the victim collapsing, and the laughter. In the background is the building of the Córdoba Civic Center.

[READ MORE: Córdoba: A trans woman was attacked and the video was uploaded ]

The incident caused outrage and fear among transgender sex workers. Micka recounts that they have witnessed water being thrown at them from cars on more than one occasion. And that a group of women, fed up with the harassment, had to gather some stones, “in case they need to defend themselves.” “Because of all this, it has been extremely difficult for us to build trust with them,” she says. “I’ve had to defend myself many times,” Natalia says. “If they see you’re submissive, they might hit you. And when they see you have more character than they do, they back down and let you go. It happens with the clients too. They know they’re picking up a ‘woman,’ but with a penis, let’s be clear. They love you and they’re going to give you a star, but when it’s all over, it’s amazing how their mood changes. They don’t even look at you, they don’t say hello, they want to hit you and they get violent. That’s our life: you have to go out and fight for it every day.”

"We are excluded from the education system"

At the Sociocultural Center, the Argentine Social and Political History class addresses the topic of independence between 1810 and 1816. Anabella, Franco, and Romina Orellano discuss exploitation and slavery during the colonial period; the May Revolution and the struggle between the more revolutionary Moreno faction and the less revolutionary Saavedra faction; the 1813 Assembly and the "freedom of wombs" law; and José de San Martín and Simón Bolívar's vision of a united Latin America. They also explain what it means to be revolutionary and conservative today; democracy, its conflicts, and rights, including those of sexual diversity. Among those who stayed for class is Karla Vivas, from Córdoba: “Most of us are excluded from the education system due to a lot of issues related to discrimination. I dropped out of school in my fourth year because of that: I suffered a lot of harassment, bullying, discrimination, and verbal and physical aggression. That inevitably excludes you, because what motivation do you have to go to school? It's a common factor among us. Now I'm seven subjects away from finishing high school, in an accelerated distance learning program.”If you can't study, how do you earn a living? "It's not a matter of wanting to or not wanting to, but exclusion from the education system leads to exclusion from the job market. So, prostitution is our only option. Most people resort to it. I had to leave home, not because of any inclination, but because I wasn't given any resources, and I had to work as a prostitute. It was quite difficult, and I even lived under a bridge. But it's all very limited, because if you're not a prostitute, you're a hairdresser or a seamstress. And that's it."

"We must continue their struggles, because there is so much to be done."

-What motivated you to join a collective project? Two of the key figures in this space, Fran and Anabella, are studying Political Science, and they provide us with guidance in these spaces that need these kinds of discussions. They talk about the struggles and the victories, about knowing that there are trans people who have been fighting for years. There are people who are no longer with us but left their mark, like Pía Baudracco with the Gender Identity Law. There are people experiencing outright homelessness. Karla is 34 years old—the same age as Laura Moyano when she was murdered—and she wants to "close the cycles" that are hurting her. "I started using drugs with a client," she recounts. "The context itself led me to it. Not all clients are Brad Pitt, so receiving some kind of stimulation makes it a little more tolerable. That's how the use becomes more intense and habitual, until addiction develops. It's a problem deeply ingrained among us, and a cycle I want to break." -Do you consider yourself a survivor? This year, on November 13th, I turn 35. Statistics say that the life expectancy for trans people is 35 years. When I'm 35 and a day old, I'll consider myself a survivor. But there are others who can be considered survivors, with a much harder life.

AGENDA

On Wednesday, June 28th, in celebration of International LGBTQ+ Pride Day in Córdoba, activities will take place in the Plazoleta del Fundador (Founder's Square). Starting at 4:00 PM, attendees are invited to gather at the intersection of Obispo Trejo and 27 de Abril streets. There will be readings, interviews, and an open mic for anyone who wishes to participate. The event is organized by the Coordinating Committee of the Córdoba Pride March, a group comprised of multiple organizations.