BUENOS AIRES, Argentina. Our Codes is the third book published by the Argentine Trans Memory Archive . Photos and stories are awakened through visual memory, and “could not emerge through any other journalistic technique,” ​​says editor Liliana Viola, proud to have been called upon to lead the AMT's new venture.

The first book was Archivo de la Memoria Trans (Trans Memory Archive) . It bore the name of the institution that was presenting itself to society, and is like a cloud of memories, based on thematic axes. The second book is Si te viera tu madre (If Your Mother Saw You) , which highlights the vision of Claudia Pía Baudracco and the protagonists who documented her era with brilliance and struggle.

The collection is organized into four chapters that engage with documents from other archives. It invites critical reflection on the 40 years of democracy that will be celebrated in Argentina in 2023.

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The democracy that was not for everyone

“The problem is that there weren't 40 years of democracy,” says editor Liliana Viola. “Not for us,” agrees María Belén Correa, founder of the AMT. “Democracy for us arrived in 2012, with the Gender Identity Law : when the State stopped persecuting us and recognized our identity. In an Argentina where the search for identity is so strong,” she notes, referring to the struggle waged by the Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo to recover the grandchildren appropriated during the last civil-military dictatorship (1976-1983).

“Starting in 2012, public policy stopped being about how they were going to persecute us, and we began to think about how to integrate it into the rest of public policies. What is a dictatorship? When the State persecutes a specific population. That's what they did, a direct genocide against us,” Correa points out.

The late democracy also meant that only in 2022 did five transvestite and trans women testify for the first time as surviving victims of state terrorism during Argentina's last civil-military dictatorship, which took place between 1976 and 1983. They testified before the First Federal Oral Court (TOF) of La Plata on the 101st day of the trial for crimes committed by the brigades in the southern suburbs of Buenos Aires province, known as the Brigades case.

From police edicts to contravention codes

For a political system to be considered democratic, it's not enough to have elections every two years. Democracy, as government by the people, remains an incomplete project as long as there are groups whose rights are not guaranteed.

The last two chapters of the book discuss these codes, which are not the "ours" referred to in the title, but rather the community's own codes. Rather, they discuss the codes of persecution by the State. In the chapters titled "The Endless Persecution" and "The Longest Wake in the World," black and white photos published in the media—generally sensational—appear, in which transvestites and trans women appear as victims: dead, imprisoned, being dragged to jail. 

"The policies the democratic state had for us were persecution. They just changed the names: we overturned police edicts and invented misdemeanor codes," María Belén attacks.

By 1983, the edicts, the vast majority of which had been issued by Federal Police chiefs and legitimized through decrees and laws in 1932 and 1947, were still in full force. They did not refer to specific events or behaviors, but rather condemned characteristics or traits of groups of people based on their social status and sexual orientation. The entire process of enforcing these norms was the responsibility of the police agency: arrest, evidence collection, and trial. There was no right to defense or any guarantees in the proceedings. Thus, mass and arbitrary arrests were "legalized."

The edicts were put up for debate starting in 1996, with the constitution of the City of Buenos Aires. But in the public debate, urban security was tangled up with stale, bourgeois moralizing, sustained by the political establishment. The battle was also cultural. In 1998, in the City of Buenos Aires, the edicts were repealed, and the scheme changed its name: the Contravention Codes gave intervention to judicial authorities, with similar results. In the province of Buenos Aires, the edicts remained in force until 2008.

To resist is to win

The published documents also show that transvestite and transgender groups were the protagonists of a courageous resistance against this repressive power.

María Belén brings up a memory that illustrates the power of this resistance. After the edicts, the city government built a kind of "waiting room" because, according to the new regulations, transvestites could no longer be held in cells. There was a television hanging on the wall, American blinds, glass between one partition and another, and loose chairs. The day this "waiting" space was inaugurated, 15 girls, who weren't supposed to be detained, entered and destroyed absolutely everything. 

“That destruction strikes me as memorable. They left nothing standing. That was what they had planned for us: they couldn't take us prisoner, we wouldn't be in a cell, but they took hours of our lives. They kept taking hours away from us because we had to spend the whole night in that waiting room.”

Political persecution in the 1980s and 1990s 

“According to the research we've done in official spaces, such as the National Library's newspaper archive, the largest recorded massacre occurred starting in 1984. In 1988, they dissolved the Transvestite Front, a group that included the girls from Panamericana. Those who survived were those who went into exile. They even killed Mónica Ramos , the leader, the head of that group. This massacre only ended in 1989/90, when they were still raiding gay clubs, like when they took Carlos Jaúregui away. The first marches were in 1992, denouncing these raids, in which people were arrested. In the transvestite areas, they were murdered outright,” María Belén recounts.

"From that point on, we say there wasn't real democracy since '83, but rather the greatest massacre occurred, which was reported in the press, in police reports, in tabloids. In the '90s, the news showed how they dragged the girls to be imprisoned." 

To protect democracy, it is essential to integrate into the national memory the reality of groups of citizens who did not have laws or codes that protected their integrity and rights, warns Liliana Viola, while Correa emphasizes that when democracy came on December 10, 1983, and [the security forces] could no longer enter homes to kidnap students, workers, or teachers, they dedicated themselves to another "social cleansing" and set up a "morality area" within the Argentine Federal Police. "With the same green Falcons, they were dedicated to arresting girls," he asserts.

Because of all this persecution, in Argentina, transvestite and trans people over 40 are considered "survivors," and there is significant consensus regarding the need to implement a compensatory pension to guarantee a minimum level of access to rights.

Own codes

“Despite what we've just said, this book is a happy one: it's a book of pain, but not of tears. Because the codes that appear in the first and second parts are part of a transvestite idiosyncrasy. Of a way of surviving and a way of forming families, which form these codes against those that will appear in chapters three and four, the codes of others, the codes of infractions,” Viola emphasizes.

The first chapter is called "Famous Quotes." 

The AMT consists of an oral archive, with testimonies recorded by the women themselves. Throughout "this mass of testimonies," which spans more than 300 pages, there are repeated phrases. For example: 

“I'm a trans girl with a lot of good problems, bad problems, a little bit of everything.”

“The greatest achievement of my life was doing what I wanted.”

“At 9, I already wanted to wear heels, underwear, and a bra. And at 12, I started cross-dressing. But I've always been a strong-willed woman, so it wasn't complicated for me.”

Archival science

There are countless photos taken at parties and gatherings, in closed spaces, "where we can be in groups of more than three." The outdoors is present in tourist photos of exile, with the Eiffel Tower or the Roman Colosseum in the background. Also at carnivals and picnics. 

At the ATM, the pieces were initially cataloged by theme. Now, with more than 15,000 photos and over 300 pages of transcribed testimonies, they are adapting them to the format of the National Archives , so that the material can communicate in the same language with other archives around the world. Each collection bears the name of the person who donated it.

“The Pink Book, the first one, was a cloud of memories. This third book shows growth and formally names each piece in each collection,” says María Belén. Furthermore, the short stories that accompany the images capture the way of speaking: the voice remembers and (re)cognizes an identity that is as singular as it is collective. 

At the end, the names of all the people who testified, acknowledged as authors, appear—generally all of them still alive—with their ages (which today range from 50 to 80 years old), and their current situation.

Free and healthy bodies

The idea of ​​a woman of character, who breaks what needs to be broken, who doesn't let herself be beaten, is present throughout the book. 

"My first motivation was reading in a magazine that Coccinelle : 'That's what I want for myself!' I said, and I achieved it, but with great sacrifice," says another famous quote.

Highlighting the contradiction, behind that page appears another one that says: "I take this opportunity to tell you not to use silicone, it's the worst thing I could have ever done in my life. That's a separate piece of advice. Nothing more."

Regarding this topic, María Belén wrote an article in Diario.ar regarding the death of Argentine model Silvina Luna, the victim of cosmetic surgery malpractice. The column reflects on social mandates, the risks, and consequences of silicone injections, and calls on the government to ensure that the health system addresses the problems associated with this silenced abuse.

Towards a real democracy

“We only began to build a democracy for ourselves in 2012,” they repeat, as a starting point. And a parallel is drawn with feminism in the 1980s: “I think it's like when feminism began to have its first jobs, and they were only secretaries, and it seemed like they would never have a position of power. I think we're at that stage. There are some civil servants. There are some who can go to school. There are some who can have their jobs, and they won't be fired if they transition. We're at the beginning,” Correa estimates, adding and multiplying rights.

The calculation is eternalized in the book-object being presented, with excellent print quality and a matte finish that allows for infinite shades of light and shadow to be appreciated.

It can be purchased at the following link: https://archivotrans.empretienda.com.ar/libro/nuestros-codigos

Photos : Facebook-Trans Memory Archive