By Juliana Quintana

Fourteen kilometers from Asunción, in San Antonio, it's night and they're burning trash. Smoke seeps into James's house through unsealed windows, doors that don't touch the floor, and cracks in the wall. He lives with his queer and a father who still calls him "daughter." 

Every now and then this happens: someone lights a cigarette, something catches fire, or they have a barbecue in the neighborhood, and James starts having an asthma attack. That day, when his dad sees him crying and having trouble breathing, he yells at her that she's crazy, that she's having a psychotic episode, and calls the police. 

“He threatened to hit me with a fan, he said he was going to break my face. I was scared, so I started screaming. I put some things in my backpack and ran. For a moment I thought he was going to catch me because my bag got caught on the gate. I yanked it off and ran about 25 blocks to downtown Ñemby. I asked some friends to come get me,” James recounts. This happened a few weeks before the government decreed the nationwide lockdown.

[READ ALSO: Survey reveals increase in homo/transphobia in Chile in the context of Covid-19]

When the quarantine became mandatory, he wrote to his sister because he was worried; he didn't want to be wandering around the streets. That's how he decided to return home. "Many of the arguments start because I ask him not to call me 'my daughter.' He already knows that I don't identify as a woman, and I'm not his property," James says. 

That's why, "to avoid dealing with him," she altered her sleep cycle, sleeping during the day and living at night. She's 26 years old, and four years ago, when she told her father she was a lesbian, there didn't seem to be any problems. But when she told him she was pansexual and identified as non-binary, he didn't accept it. 

“It’s very difficult to live in an environment where you’re not respected. He asks my sister about everything related to me in front of me, acts like I’m not here, or treats me horribly. He sees that I’m going through a transition related to my image, and that seems to be very drastic for him. He pretends to be ignorant of my sister and gives her the privilege of being the son,” she says.

A Room of One's Own

The coronavirus pandemic highlighted the contexts of inequality and structural exclusion experienced by LGBTI+ people in Paraguay, as well as the various forms of violence they face. For those already living in homes where they were discriminated against because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, this period of confinement exacerbated their situation. The names of those interviewed have been changed to protect their identities.

Karina is 26 years old and lives with her parents. They've known she's a lesbian since 2012, but it's never discussed in the house. When the quarantine period began over a month ago, she broke up with her partner and chose not to tell anyone. “I make an effort not to show myself in public spaces. I'm aware of the privilege of having my own room because it gives me that ease. For people who might not have that privacy, it must be a much more difficult process. But the lockdown affects me because I'm confined to a small space,” she confesses.

Coming out in quarantine 

Something similar happened to Carlos, who came out during quarantine because his mother realized he was struggling. “Generally, I prefer to keep my suffering to myself rather than worry them because they’ll react badly. I had to tell my mother recently. It was a very vulnerable day, one of those days when you feel like you’re going to crumble like a house of cards. She came, talked to me, asked me what was wrong. And that’s when I couldn’t hold it in anymore, I cried a lot and told her I’m gay,” he says.

“There’s a kind of culture of not talking about it. And, in my house, they won’t know how to deal with it or they’ll respond with even more silence because it’s a situation that forces all the family members to stay in the same corner. Their attitude doesn’t allow us to have that space to talk,” Karina maintains.

[READ ALSO: Stories of dissident quarantines]

Carlos thinks his mother “took it well,” but the subject hasn't been brought up since. He locks himself in his room and tries to distract himself however he can: “You can't escape what you feel or what you think, and that creates a kind of emotional claustrophobia. I have ways to express what I feel, like talking to friends or writing, watching a movie, but I still don't have the option of going out and having coffee with someone.” 

Stress is triggered 

Many LGBT people living with their families are going through difficult times, whether due to breakups or forced separation from their loved ones. In an article on the queer website Them, American psychotherapist Laura A. Jacobs explains that these worries act synergistically, activating our underlying stressors. Feelings of depression and hopelessness will be much more pronounced during this period.

Montse Vera, a psychologist with the feminist mental health network, believes that the LGBTI population is unprotected and faces many more psychological risk factors. She explains that there is a greater predisposition to depression due to the rejection they experience both within and outside their homes. The lack of activities and social interaction creates an unprecedented period of solitude, leading people to reflect on themselves in a society that constantly moralizes and condemns. 

“We get trapped with our own demons, and when you have people who come in with symptoms of depression, who feel like their existence doesn't fit in, plus the sadness of feeling pressured in their living situation, it exacerbates the symptoms. What I'm seeing in remote therapy is that there are many nightmares or urges to self-harm and some suicidal thoughts, which are related to that process. There's a feeling of personal dissatisfaction and guilt,” Montse reflects.

Alicia is an only child, 26 years old, and she too was confined to her home with her parents. She whispers the word "bisexual" so they won't hear her talking about it on the phone. She says she feels free to express her sexuality as long as it's outside the family setting. "I feel I have a very good relationship with my parents, but there's a part of me they don't know. The person I am today is thanks to these years of therapy," she says. She has already had two panic attacks during the quarantine.

Virtuality as a refuge

The isolation is doubled for those who haven't come out and are forced to share more time and space with their families, retreating to their rooms or into the virtual world where they can be themselves. Every time he argues with his father, James locks himself in his room. “I take refuge in the virtual world because that's where I can demand and receive validation, or be part of a shared space where other people who identify this way can also be themselves,” he says. 

On that point, Karina finds it helpful to focus on her work and connect with her friends. She believes it's a good way to take her mind off things and understand that while everyone has the right to suffer, some people face more serious housing problems or are waiting for that 500,000 guaraní subsidy to survive (referring to Pytyvo, the government program that provides $76 to one family member once a month). “Playing an instrument, talking, or connecting with friends helps me; it helps to think about how other people around me are doing.” 

There's a common belief that spending more time with family during lockdown could improve communication.Alicia thinks that the closeness and proximity of this time would lead to greater understanding. However, for Montse, this isn't the time to resolve long-standing family conflicts because if a breakdown occurs, there's nowhere to turn. 

“There’s no Diversity Secretariat here, much less a Ministry, nor is there any state structure to protect them. What we have are organizations, but they also have their limitations in providing support right now. So, where do you go? On top of that, with the context of COVID, if you leave home, it’s not easy for just any friend to take you in. For now, it’s important to avoid confrontation as much as possible and stay in constant contact with loved ones, whether they’re friends or acquaintances,” the professional recommends. 

Trans people in emergency 

The government decree urging citizens to "stay home" restricts working hours until 8:00 PM. For sex workers who offer their services on the street or in brothels, this means a decrease in demand. They have to work longer hours to earn the same amount. Many live hand to mouth; if they don't earn enough money, they can't pay for their room, eat, or even pay their rent. 

“Transvestite and trans people are vulnerable to acquiring and transmitting the virus to those around us through close contact. The government's order to stay home and the nighttime curfew affect sex workers who offer their services on the street or in brothels,” explains trans human rights activist Yren Rotela.

From the Casa Diversa community training center and temporary shelter, they have repeatedly requested state support. They asked for basic food supplies and protective equipment, but to date, they have received no response. They have self-organized kits for transgender people and prepare community meals every week using donations and collections of non-perishable food items*.

Many transgender sex workers who were evicted from substandard hotels or who live in overcrowded settlements without any state assistance are now homeless and without a known address. Furthermore, in recent weeks they have reported cases of institutional violence perpetrated by the armed wing of the police, known as Grupo Lince. 

According to Darío Arias, an LGBTI activist from Argentina and regional co-secretary of ILGALAC (International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans and Intersex Association for Latin America and the Caribbean), the violence to which these communities are routinely subjected has grown exponentially at the regional level. This is because the vast majority of governments in the region have not taken preventative measures with a specific focus on gender and sexual diversity. 

[READ ALSO: The IACHR calls for respect for LGBT+ rights in the context of Covid-19: 5 recommendations]

“LGBTI+ people are in a human rights emergency, especially transvestites and trans people. It is essential that states in the region implement measures with an anti-discrimination perspective and a focus on gender and diversity, as well as a territorial and intersectional approach. This, of course, must be done in relation to all the dimensions that affect us as subjects in this society,” she emphasizes.

*For donations to Casa Diversa: Current Account Banco Familiar: 22 2660341 and Tigo Money Transfers: (+595)984609823.

All our content is freely accessible. To continue producing inclusive and rigorous journalism, we need your help. You can contribute here.