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By Dunia Orellana. Illustration: LACH É for the Cattrachas Lesbian Network. Photos: Courtesy of Cattrachas.

Maricela Rodríguez, her 12-year-old daughter, and her partner Alejandra arrived in Mexico a month ago fleeing the homophobic attacks they suffered in Honduras, their native country. Upon arrival, Alejandra was deported from Mexico “for discrimination,” Maricela told Presentes. “In March, they separated us even though we told the authorities we were a couple.” Alejandra returned to Honduras and days later crossed back into Guatemala to reunite with her partner. They don't want to stay in Mexico because the violence they experienced is similar to that in Honduras. “We are hardworking people with no vices. I've been working in a barbershop, but the clients have said all sorts of things to me. It's horrible,” Maricela told Presentes. They hope to obtain asylum in the United States. Maricela and Alejandra are among the many LGBTQ+ people who migrate to escape violence. This type of migration is known as “sexile”; exiles motivated by sexual orientation or gender identity.

The first serious attack they suffered in Honduras was in December 2019. During a soccer match, rival players insulted Maricela and broke the rain guards and bumpers of her truck. Although it hurt, she had to reduce her participation in sports. Maricela met Alejandra while they were playing soccer.

[READ ALSO: https://agenciapresentes.org/2020/12/28/pandemia-huracanes-y-un-juicio-historico-asi-fue-2020-para-las-personas-lgbt-en-honduras/]

The second attack came days later, when an unidentified assailant stabbed Maricela while she was parked on her motorcycle. “It was due to homophobia and hate,” she tells Presentes.

In addition to the physical attacks, Maricela and Alejandra endured increasingly severe discrimination. They worked near Tegucigalpa selling cars and land, and they say that people from the surrounding area constantly harassed and insulted them. “They practically wanted to take my business away from me,” one of them says. According to their reports, the harassment reached a point where people were searching Maricela and Alejandra's business for stolen cell phones.

They were attacked again one night as they were driving home from work. “Two men came out of an alley and pulled us out of the car. They didn't steal anything. I think their intention was to assault us, and they started beating us, eventually leaving my partner unconscious.” They reported the incident, but according to them, the police didn't investigate.

Agencia Presentes has requested an official statement from the Honduran Police, but has not received a response.

In Honduras, 374 people of diverse sexual orientations have been murdered in the last 11 years, 43 of whom were lesbians, according to the violent deaths observatory of the Cattrachas Lesbian Network.

“In Honduras, there has been and continues to be a context of violence against LGBTI people,” said Peruvian researcher and lawyer Carlos Zelada Acuña. The expert made this statement during his intervention in the hearing of the case of Honduran transgender woman Vicky Hernández against the State of Honduras, held by the Inter-American Court of Human Rights in November 2020.

The night of the escape

They fled their village on the night of February 17, 2021, after suffering an attack in their own home. “On February 14, I heard glass shatter,” Maricela tells Presentes. “I ran to my daughter’s bedroom and got her out through the back window. Alejandra got out through the other window. We ran like crazy. A truck took us to a river, and we were there for hours.”

They were so traumatized that they fled to Tegucigalpa without investigating anything. They went to the police station and begged the officers to escort them home. What they saw horrified them.

“I saw the burned motorcycle, the broken windows, some scratches on the wall.” The police demanded the names of the attackers so they could take action against them, but they didn't know who they were.

They realized they could no longer live in Honduras, where they risked death and the authorities were doing nothing to protect them. “'No more, they want to kill us,' I told myself,” Maricela recounts. They took some money and escaped.
They first hid in a hotel from February 17 to 23, where they received support from several organizations, including the Cattrachas Lesbian Network. “Then we decided to come to Mexico. I thought it would be easy.”

“At the hotel in Tegucigalpa, I told them not to be afraid,” says Cattrachas criminal investigation advisor Fátima Ulloa. “I thought their nightmare was over, but it has only continued.”

They take everything from them, except their dignity.

“In Guatemala, we were robbed; they took a lot of money from us,” says Maricela. They had to sleep on the streets of Guatemala.
They were also robbed in Mexico. “The policeman took 3,000 pesos from us to let us pass, and then the taxi driver took 5,000.”

Then they separated them. She had paid 6,000 pesos for three tickets to Puebla, in central Mexico, but they were taken off the bus in Nuevo México. “When I told the immigration officials that we were a couple, and asked them to take all three of us, they told me, ‘That’s not allowed here, that kind of thing isn’t permitted.’”

Maricela had to spend her remaining money to reunite with Alejandra in Mexico, where they now hope the Mexican government will grant them asylum. Meanwhile, the Cattrachas remain in constant communication with them.