By Keili González. Following the Second Dissident Pride March held on November 11, 2017, in Paraná, Entre Ríos, I had to endure a series of violent acts. First, by a provincial deputy from the far-right Peronist party , Daniel Antonio Koch, who holds the seat for the Renewal Front; and second, by a number of digital and radio media outlets. The triggers that brought out the violent side of each of these self-proclaimed moral authorities were: my bare torso at the March, a painted wall, and the fact that I work in the Press and Design Department of the Municipality of Nogoyá. My mere humanity was enough to mobilize me as a militant and activist, committed to others. My reaction: to report the legislator and the media outlets that perpetrated the violence to the appropriate state agencies. Furthermore, they urged that my fundamental right to demonstrate be violated and called for action to be taken in my workplace for something I did outside of working hours and in my private life.

Media violence

In response to the online news outlets and radio programs, some of the accusations were: she doesn't respect women; she's a pervert and promiscuous; she likes to attract attention; she's seeking fame. The most common questions were: why doesn't the mayor fire her?; why doesn't she value her job?; why don't they put her to work sweeping?; was it necessary to show her breasts?; why didn't she tell them not to paint the walls of the Radical Civic Union?; is she going to apologize to us?; why doesn't she do like the other trans women who lead a "normal" life? My response was: how painful this Nogoyá is.   After my complaints against the media outlets that disseminate hate messages and incite violence against my body, I will no longer remain silent. To this society, which is morally panicked by my identity, which longs for my dismissal from the job I have earned, which strives to subject me to the prostitution system, I reply: I started working at the age of five, born into a poor, very poor family. I was raised by a macho father who worked tirelessly to put food on the table and a mother who relied on creativity in her cooking to make meals seem different, despite using the same ingredients most days. Facebook post from one of the journalists after being summoned by INADI

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Working doesn't bother me, just as it doesn't seem to bother society, which wasn't bothered by a child working on the street. I'm not afraid of working at all. As a very young child, I used to go with my cousins ​​in the cart to the shops to collect scraps to feed our family. I would spend hours outside supermarkets looking for a few coins for candy; and don't even get me started on when the sun first set… I would walk the streets with my uncle, "Biguá Guzmán," collecting cardboard and bottles to sell and help out at home. From age 5 to 12, I sold newspapers to buy clothes, books, and school supplies. When I was 8 or 9, a client of the wealthy cattle ranchers' newspaper—which I bought on weekends—called me to help her with gardening, and that's when I picked up a shovel. I also cleaned houses when friends called me for help during lean times, when I was just a kid. Yes, a child, moralistic ladies and gentlemen, because I do not deny what I was. As a teenager, from ages 13 to 16, during what I call the transition of my identity, I dedicated myself entirely to my studies. After finishing high school, to be able to pursue my university degree, I started working to support myself, paying for my room and board, and sometimes bus fare, because otherwise I hitchhiked. I wasn't one of the privileged few who enjoys a family that can prioritize "education." Among the many things I did were baking bread to sell; I sold books and did promotional work; the latter being an activity I detested because it forced me to hide all my masculine features, just to please the recipients of the flyers.

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After completing my university studies, I joined the municipality as an intern, working in the Press and Public Relations team under Mayor Daniel Pavón. Later, I became a temporary employee, and when the administration changed to Rafael Cavagna, I continued in the same role. What led me to work at such a young age? Around 1999, I started primary school at School 103, in the South neighborhood. I remember seeing my mother's pain when she broke a pencil at the beginning of the school year because she couldn't afford to buy one for each of my siblings... I remember those pencils very well; they were those yellow ones whose leads would shatter at the slightest pressure. Also, I longed to celebrate my sixth birthday; until then, I didn't know what that celebration was, a celebration that many children enjoyed every year.

Does my identity bother you?

Given the great discomfort my visibility and exposure generate, and the questions about why I don't remain in the shadows like other trans women, I ask you again: why don't you ask yourselves where the other trans women are? What is their reality? Are they loved, supported, seen, and included? Who are the trans women who live in Nogoyá? Ask yourselves these questions, because I'm sure they would be very happy that you feel challenged by the reality they experience every day. The murders of transvestites and transfemicides are the final link in a chain of violence that transvestite and trans people suffer from childhood and adolescence. We have an average life expectancy of 36 years, and that doesn't seem to be a problem. Society is indifferent, insensitive to the cruel reality we often face, and the State often fails to respect our gender identity. And when it does, it disregards the issues of expulsion, lack of access to and retention in social services, and hate crimes—the very hate you express to me in every social media post.

Why am I denouncing the media?

Because as social communicators, we have an enormous responsibility as opinion-makers. I'm not denouncing journalists for doing their job, but for inciting violence, something that's normalized and that we as a society shouldn't let slide. To base assumptions and actions I never committed is to distort the truth. Analyzing the events of the second Dissident Pride march from a moral standpoint is unacceptable. You didn't like my breasts, fine, you didn't like them, but you can't deny me the right to express them in that context. I don't do things to please you. My connection to the graffiti at the Radical Party headquarters is another issue I can't ignore. As I've already clarified, I didn't paint it. That has a purpose: to amplify the hatred my identity generates because you can't question the facts. Do you wonder why I marched topless? Does a wall bother or upset you more than the suffering and injustices we, the trans community, endure? It's time the media focuses on how to include our voices and perspectives, how to understand sexual diversity, and how to do so without stigmatizing or ridiculing us. I don't want this world anymore; I want a pluralistic, egalitarian society that loves us. Fellow feminists, let's keep going, because without your love, I'm sure I wouldn't be standing.