In Tandil, Buenos Aires province, the Patricia Rasmussen shelter for LGBTQ+ people has been operating since March. It's a self-managed project created to support young people expelled by their families or arriving from other cities, as well as adults who are alone. By Luciana Caminos.  When Gustavo Pernicone (52 years old) told his father he was bisexual, the response was: “I'd rather have a dead son than a faggot.” So he had to leave home, sleeping on the streets for a while. After rebuilding his life thanks to the help of some people, he vowed to do everything possible to ensure no one else has to go through those circumstances. That's why he spearheaded the creation of a shelter for LGBTQ+ people in Tandil with the support of the NGO Convivencia en Diversidad (Living Together in Diversity). “Besides being left on the street, the worst thing is exclusion from the family. That leads to depression; the person breaks down at a young age, and that damage is almost irreparable.” The shelter is named after trans activist Patricia Rasmussen in honor of the leader of the Association of Transvestites, Transsexuals, and Transgender People (ATTTA) and her fight for the rights of her peers. The house has four bedrooms to accommodate those in need and a 24-hour emergency hotline. Gustavo recounts that a trans woman was recently evicted from a boarding house and stayed there until they were able to secure a subsidy. The shelter team also follows up on individual cases to find solutions.

Few spaces for LGBT people

The idea for the shelter began in 2015, when the association Convivencia en Diversidad de Tandil (Living Together in Diversity of Tandil) was founded to raise awareness of LGBTI issues in the city. That same year, the activists were invited by the Extension Department of the National University of the Center of the Province of Buenos Aires to organize an LGBT workshop. “We managed to get seventy people to attend, which was a historic milestone for Tandil,” says Gustavo. He adds, “We started with outreach activities, and people began to come. They would come to the events to drink mate, share an afternoon, have dinner, but that was it. We kept working, and at the end of last year, we launched the shelter, which only started operating in March. We see that in every place we go in the Province, the issue is the same: LGBT people don't have spaces where they can be within the community.” The shelter is open every day of the week, from 4:00 p.m. to 4:00 a.m. About 80 people come to the shelter, and there is a regular group that comes every day after work or school. They arrive around six or seven in the evening, drink mate, watch a soap opera on TV or a Netflix series, read or play cards, and then have dinner. “We live together as if it were a family relationship,” says Gustavo.

The group that contains

The shelter team is made up of a group of activists, averaging in their twenties, who take turns cooking, cleaning, and attending to the needs of those who come seeking refuge. Daniel (20 years old) is from Santa Teresita. He is gay and studies business administration. He lives in the residence hall of the National University of the Center of the Province of Buenos Aires and every day walks or bikes more than 80 blocks to get to the shelter. “I don’t know anyone at the university, I feel isolated and I come here because I feel supported.“Having such a large family—she clarifies that she has seven siblings—I need to surround myself with a lot of people to feel at home,” she says. Ayelén (23) is a lesbian and arrived months ago from Mar del Plata, following her partner who studies in Tandil. “At first, I came sporadically, but as I got to know the group, I started joining in, especially at night. We get together for dinner, to spend some time together. It’s very much like family,” she says. Nahara (21) is trans and originally from Benito Juárez. She is a dancer and is studying to be personal trainerShe says it was very difficult for her to find her identity. “The guys at the shelter helped me define my trans identity and also to open up. I was very reserved, and here I found a space to be myself.”

The loneliness of adults

Another situation that goes unseen is the loneliness of LGBT adults: “Contrary to what one might think, more older people than young people come to the shelter. The adult who lost their parents and didn’t start a family is left practically alone, because most people their age don’t accept them. Then they begin to miss something fundamental: the connection with others,” says Gustavo.

A self-managed project

The shelter is a self-managed project. “We make a huge effort,” says Gustavo. “We sustain ourselves with membership fees, donations from kind people who bring yerba mate, sugar, or food, and the contributions of each member. We don't have any government support. Right now, we have a debt of about 30,000 pesos between utilities and rent. There's an activist who earns 1,600 pesos a month and lives on the other side of the city, and twice a week he walks here to lend a hand.” Inside the shelter, during business hours, there's a printing press. It's a project supported by [unclear - possibly "the organization"]. Seed Fund from the Ministry of Production that was managed to insert people from the LGBTI community into the labor market. The shelter operates at Chacabuco 392 from 2 PM to 4 AM. For emergencies, you can contact 0249 154689601 24 hours a day.   ]]>