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A group of LGBTQ+ activists and friends of César Cigliutti bid farewell to the president of the CHA ( Argentine Homosexual Community ) on the afternoon of Tuesday, September 1st, in Plaza de Mayo. It was a fleeting, intimate gathering, respectful of social distancing and imbued with a profound political significance, centered around that emblematic circle established by the Mothers and Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo. That Plaza was a crucial stage in the life of César, a pioneer in the LGBTQ+ struggle as part of the human rights agenda in Argentina. Yesterday there were no hugs, just a few elbows bumping in the frigid air of that afternoon, which seemed unreal, the weather already more wintry than all the previous days of the quarantine.

Pride in Plaza de Mayo

Although many people surely longed to come and pay their respects to the historical figure, the details of the gathering were kept secret to comply with preventative lockdown measures. Starting at five in the afternoon, gay, lesbian, bisexual, transvestite, and transgender activists began arriving at the Plaza, wearing rainbow-colored face masks, carrying Pride flags, signs, and bouquets of flowers. Some, out of caution, didn't even bump elbows but stood for a while looking into each other's eyes. Others began hanging the flags of their organizations, a huge photo of César, and signs on the fences surrounding the pyramid.

In the Plaza, a long and strange line formed, made up of sad and downcast people, leaving more than a meter and a half between each other, to greet a role model who passed away while sleeping, on the last day of August, at the age of 63. 

Less than 24 hours had passed since the news broke. Those arriving tried to recognize each other beneath their masks and coats. A sense of witnessing a moment outside of reality hung in the air, the Pride colors shining brightly against the leaden gray that enveloped the Plaza. César's death, who in 2010 was declared an illustrious citizen of Buenos Aires for his work promoting human rights, came as a surprise, at a time when a larger farewell ceremony wasn't possible, and hopefully—the activists repeated like a prayer—it could be held someday. 

While they waited in line to leave a bouquet of flowers, some fantasized about other plans: bidding farewell to César at the Legislature, scattering his ashes in some collective ritual. After everyone had approached to place their flowers and thoughts beneath César's photo, the activists and friends formed a semicircle following the line of white handkerchiefs drawn on the floor. 

Community is not just about ideas

“I’m not ready to say the last words, despite having accompanied César in activism for so many years,” said Marcelo Suntheim, his life partner and fellow activist with CHA. “I can’t speak for César. César is no longer just ours; he belongs to everyone.” After recalling how he fought against police repression against lesbians, gay men, and trans people, and how he supported so many comrades in difficult situations, Marcelo emphasized how the word “community” resonated in César’s life and actions.

“Community isn’t just about ideas, it’s something you feel: love and affection as political tools are matters of struggle. That’s why love defeats hate,” said the man with whom, on July 18, 2003, she formed the first couple to enter into a civil union for LGBT+ couples in Latin America and the Caribbean. Marcelo bid him farewell with, “César, you faggot, my beloved wife, present!” 

"He left happy and proud"

Pedro Paradiso Sottile, an activist with CHA and executive director of Ilga Lac, expressed his heartfelt gratitude for the example, love, and pride of the woman he considered "his sister." "César is everything we will always love, and we will continue fighting for the world we dream of, the world that united us. He left happy because he was happy and proud of everything we are building," he said, referring to what became the final chapter of his tireless activism: the Pride and Struggle Front , a space where the activist work of many LGBTQ+ organizations converges. The strength of this space was forged in the urgent solidarity networks they built during the quarantine, organizing to assist the most vulnerable LGBTQ+ people, with César actively participating in every step: from packing food baskets to developing collective strategies to promote a National Law on Labor Quotas and Inclusion for trans and travesti people.

From Cien por Ciento Diversidad y Derechos (One Hundred Percent Diversity and Rights)—one of the organizations that make up Orgullo y Lucha (Pride and Struggle)—Martín Canevaro expressed: “Among so many things, we learned from César that behind every activist there is an organization. Like all of us who are here today. Personally, I will always remember him for his generosity.” Greta Pena, also from Cien por Ciento, emphasized: “We feel honored that he allowed us to be activists with him. He was a wonderful wheeler-dealer, always plotting something, with such political clarity that he could defend his position with a single phrase. He was a man of integrity and honesty. We felt comfortable by his side. He gave us his last moments of militant vitality. After Mauricio Macri's government, he had been revived with Orgullo y Lucha. Today the entire community is saddened, because, as others have already said, César belongs to everyone.” 

Alba Rueda, Undersecretary of Diversity Policies for the Nation and activist with Mujeres Trans Argentina (Trans Women Argentina), said: “This is hard for us. There’s a political dimension to César’s presence that only we can understand. Many things changed thanks to him; he fought for more rights, against the police, and also for visibility. I remember how he would call us out and get angry when we didn’t mention Nadia Echazú.” She emphasized: “These kinds of mourning happen in the streets, like we’re doing today.” The ceremony closed with a long and enthusiastic applause. It also concluded with an emblematic chant that, for the first time, uttered his name: César Cigliutti, Present. Now and Forever.