Share

Share

Share on Facebook Share on Facebook Tweet Share on Twitter Share on WhatsApp Share on WhatsApp

SUBSCRIBE TO THE NEWSLETTER

CITY OF BUENOS AIRES, Argentina . The sixth Transvillera Plurinational Diversity Pride March brought the demands and demands of the LGBT community of the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires to the streets of 31st and 31 Bis in Retiro Park. They demanded justice for Zoe García, jobs and decent housing for trans people, asked where Tehuel is, and said, "Enough of lesbicides and transvesticides." One of the main slogans was that this sector of the city not be left out of urbanization. But above all, they shouted: Pride is also from the slums .

Because the slum march is a celebration. At siesta time on Saturday, December 7, transvestites dance among the motorcycles and neighbors, while Paraguayans play soccer in front of the mural depicting former President Néstor Kirchner. Lesbians wave, queers shout. Pride is also from the slums. The river knows it, the neighbors know it. Today, transvestites take communion, queers are baptized, lesbians confess. Large glasses of cold beer are passed from hand to hand as the Gendarmerie passes by. 

Families approach, accompanying relatives who are coming for the first time, even though this is the sixth slum trans pride event in the richest city in the country. A six-year-old boy runs through the aisles with a rainbow flag, defying urbanization, briefly forgetting the lack of food in the cafeteria, embracing the pain with pride. Glitter escapes along the beach highway, the march bursts into the fair to the rhythm of Sudor Marika, the salchipapa bursts into the fair. 

Developing community, occupying space, learning that when you can't grow sideways, you grow upwards with everyone—that's what being a slum dweller is for me. Today we march, tomorrow we pray, the day after tomorrow we protest, but today we dance cumbia on the motorcycles of life. With all our flags, all our T-shirts, we march in the slum for all those who are no longer here, in a celebration organized by the Feminist Assembly of Slum 31 and 31 Bis and INTI Travesti Trans. 

“I'm a resident of the Correo Viejo neighborhood,” introduces Gustavo Arias, part of the group organizing the march, Las Norteñas. “For us, this Villera Trans Pride March has a very profound meaning. It's not just about participating in the struggle, but also about reaffirming our presence and our identities in a context where the right-wing advance seeks to erase us with a stroke of the pen ,” he says. “ We want to reaffirm that queers, lesbians, trans people, and transvestites exist in this neighborhood. Taking to the streets and making our needs visible is an act of resistance, especially in the face of the gentrification processes that exclude our communities . Transvestites and trans people are the ones who suffer the most from the lack of resources; they often don't have access to registered employment.”

Gustavo is one of the many who denounces that in Buenos Aires City, the transgender employment quota in public employment is not being met. “It's outrageous that no transgender people work, for example, at the City's Ministry of Education, which is right next to our homes. Our struggle stems from our trenches, the neighborhood. Historical transgender people, neighbors who have lived here for more than 30 years, were unable to access the new housing. All of this despite being an essential part of these corridors and spaces we consider our own. We are here inhabiting and defending our neighborhood, proud of who we are,” he says. 

The shantytown march creaks through the streets that were once dirt and are now paved. Little brown hands wave from the windows of the houses to the transvestites, riding in their best clothes from some motorcycle, shouting "Justice for Zoé López García." She would have been here today with the girls from the Gondolín Hotel, drinking her favorite drink. We all know that today Aunt Zoé marches and watches over us from above. 

Pauli Burgos is a cultural manager and neighborhood resident. She says, “The slum trans march represents a meeting place for transvestites and dissidents, in a very difficult year for the residents. Even with all the difficulties people are facing, we hold these events. Even with the unmet needs of the residents, we are committed to culture. And the march is culture in Retiro. We meet to dance, hug each other, demand justice, and not forget the violence, transvesticide, and transfemicide. I think it's very important that this continues to happen in the neighborhood, for the rights of everyone,” she concludes. 

The slum march crosses the corner in the direction it started and, upon arrival, joins the procession of the Virgin of Urkupiña. Neighbors and transvestites greet each other, the Virgin blesses the march, and Father Mujica stands to embrace the transvestites, the colors, the space, and the customs of the Retiro neighborhood. On stage, the document is read, and those who are no longer with us are remembered. Aunt Lali dances as dusk falls. The following song plays over the loudspeakers: Milei, Milei, much gay sex for you . The march has ended. Kings and pawns return to the till, as do the gossipmongers and onlookers. See you next year. Transvestite fury always!