Outrage and shock over the transfemicide of Azul Semeñenko in Neuquén
Azul Semeñenko was a transgender state employee in the Violence Protection Unit in the province of Neuquén. After being missing for almost three weeks, she was found brutally murdered. Her coworkers formed a network and succeeded in bringing the case to light and mobilizing society behind the demand for justice.
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Azul Mía Natasha Semeñenko had managed to overcome some of the barriers related to the structural violence inflicted on trans people. She had a job, she was a state employee, but she was also a survivor. She had surpassed the average age of a trans woman in Latin America, which is between 35 and 40 years old. She was about to turn 49 on the very day her cell phone signal was last lost near the Neuquén River, on Thursday, September 25.
She could not escape the most lethal violence, the savagery of hate crimes, or the ominous cruelty of the disposal of her body. It was thrown into a drainage canal in the Valentina Norte area, wrapped in blue plastic sheeting, bound with wire at the torso and a rope at the waist. Initial reports indicate she was murdered with extreme brutality, judicial sources told Presentes.
Her coworkers raised the alarm when Azul failed to show up at the office of the Directorate of Comprehensive Protection against Violence in the province of Neuquén, where she worked as a maintenance assistant. “Azul was very responsible; it was unthinkable that she wouldn't let us know or answer her cell phone,” those who worked with her daily told various media outlets. Ironically, she ended up being one of the victims they served in that very office.
The last person to see her alive was a doctor at a public hospital, the Castro Rendón, because Azul was planning to undergo surgery to further align her body with her gender. Following a report from one of her friends, several search operations were launched, and marches and other events were held to raise awareness of her case.
For nearly three weeks, descriptions provided by her coworkers circulated on social media and in the press. A tall, slender woman with fair skin and shoulder-length reddish hair. “She was very cheerful and attentive to everyone. You could tell when she was home. She was always well-groomed and made up. It's not normal that she hasn't come home, that she hasn't let us know; it alarmed us. She has two kittens, and it's worrying that she's not at home,” Juliana Calvo, one of her coworkers, told the media . They knew what to do. They quickly organized leaflet distributions and activities to demand her safe return and publicized the search. She was riding a fluorescent bicycle, wearing a t-shirt and skinny jeans, according to neighbors who saw her leaving her home in Confluencia, where she had been renting a room since the beginning of September. Police found the stove burners on and her kittens with her.
A couple walking their dogs along the Paseo de la Costa, northwest of the city of Neuquén (near the border with Río Negro province), spotted the body on the afternoon of Tuesday, October 14. It was partially submerged in a canal in the Valentina Norte area, 20 kilometers from where Azul's cell phone was last turned off.
“A savage hatred”
Hours later, the Public Prosecutor's Office (MPF) reported that the victim was Azul Semeñenko. According to the preliminary autopsy report submitted by the Forensic Medical Corps, "the victim suffered stab wounds to the chest and arms that caused her death. Fractures to the face were also found."
The investigation is being handled by Guadalupe Inaudi, of the Prosecutor's Office for Crimes Against Persons. "Since the victim was a trans woman, the case is being investigated as a transfemicide," the Prosecutor's Office reported. "The autopsy revealed a savage hatred," judicial sources told this publication. Azul received several stab wounds to the chest, a fractured jaw, and a broken cheekbone. She also had several cuts and the typical injuries of someone who tried to defend herself.
Yesterday morning in Neuquén, a large march was held to demand justice for the murder of a trans woman. It was initially planned as a call for her safe return, coinciding with a 48-hour strike, but upon learning of her identification, it transformed into a powerful demand for justice and, above all, for the government to implement policies to prevent violence against women. The march began at the office where Azul worked and proceeded to the Government House.
Rage, shock, and a safety net
The La Revuelta Collective told Presentes that despite being organized at the last minute, a large number of people attended. "The case generates shock and anger; it's difficult to process," they shared.
Tatiana Antonella Breve, a representative of ATTTA (Association of Transvestites, Transsexuals, and Transgender People of Argentina), used the same words when consulted by Presentes. “We are deeply moved, filled with rage. We believe that these kinds of events can be prevented. Unfortunately, the marginalization and clandestine situation to which the various states and society drag us leads to this kind of end. Luckily, Azul had a loving support network among her coworkers . That brought attention to the case, though not a happy ending. There have been other transfemicides in the region, and we haven't been able to get them solved or the perpetrators found.”
Gender violence on the rise
Tatiana said that Azul “was a friend with a great zest for life, a survivor of this system. Nobody deserves this outcome, but when support policies are cut and hate speech like Javier Milei's is replicated, we are left extremely vulnerable and these actions end up being legitimized.”
The violent death of Azul adds to a striking list of gender-based violence that has grown in recent weeks. This list also includes the triple femicide of Brenda, Morena, and Lara in Florencio Varela (Buenos Aires province), and the double femicide of Luna Giardina and Mariel Zamudio at the hands of Pablo Laurta in Córdoba.
From January to September 29, there were at least 178 femicides in Argentina: one every 36 hours, according to the Observatory "Now That They See Us ." In the last eight days , one every 16 hours.
Complaints to the provincial government
During the nearly three weeks she was missing, Azul's name was mentioned alongside that of Luciana Muñoz. “In Neuquén, we have been searching for Luciana Muñoz, a cisgender young woman, for 15 months now, and she is still missing. The government of Rolando Figueroa (Neuquén People's Movement, close to La Libertad Avanza) dismantled diversity policies. It turned the Undersecretariat of Diversity into a directorate. And what was the Ministry of Women and Diversity was transformed into the Ministry of Human Development, Local Governments, and Women.” The minister of that ministry is Julieta Corroza, a candidate for senator for the ruling party.
Azul worked in maintenance. She had previously worked as a sex worker. “For those of us who live below the poverty line and in the shadows, getting a job isn't a lifeline. We remain trapped in vulnerability, living in precarious conditions. Azul had been dealing with housing issues for a long time. Before, she had rented in a shantytown. Sometimes we manage to find formal employment, but it's usually precarious, with the lowest wages.”
“The electoral situation weighed more heavily than the life of this trans woman. We believe that security cameras work for many things, but they didn't work for this.” When asked if Azul had obtained her job through the National Transgender Employment Quota Law, Tatiana responded: “No. In our province, the transgender employment quota is not implemented, even though we have worked on it with the Executive branch. In Neuquén, hydrocarbon growth is more important than human rights.”
She had five siblings. As soon as her disappearance was reported, her family, with whom she had a distant relationship, joined the search. The provincial government declared two days of mourning for her death. Her remains were buried today.
Tatiana highlights something this transfemicide brought to light: “the emotional support network that trans people manage to build when neither the state nor families offer support. It’s the network that saves us. Azul touched the hearts of society, thanks to her coworkers and friends who valued her. That network helped find her body. And it’s what must sustain us so we can build the justice we need and clarify what happened to Azul.”
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