Mexico: 11 transfemicides recorded since the beginning of 2026
Activists recorded 11 trans femicides between January and April. They denounce investigations that do not respect gender identity.
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MEXICO CITY, Mexico. So far in 2026, at least 11 transgender women have been murdered in Mexico. In the first two weeks of April alone, Zamantha, Sabrina, Daniela, and Ares were killed. In all cases, the level of brutality was high.
On January 1, 35-year-old Luva Noemí was murdered in Jalisco. Three days later, on January 4, 22-year-old Aitana was killed in Chihuahua. The following month, on February 16, a transgender woman was murdered in the State of Mexico; she has not yet been identified. On February 26, 30-year-old Fanny was killed in Morelos. On March 6, after being reported missing, 27-year-old Nayrobi Flores was found dead in Mexico City. On March 28, 36-year-old Estrella Vázquez was murdered in Guerrero.
On April 2, another unidentified trans woman was found dead in Cancún, Quintana Roo. This adds to three more murders committed in April: Zamantha, 30, was killed on April 4 in Sinaloa; Sabrina, 40, was killed in Morelos; and Ares Navarrete, 31, was killed on April 8 in Guerrero. On April 11, Daniela Martínez, 24, was murdered in Michoacán.
This figure comes from the efforts of collectives and activists who document this violence in the absence of an official registry of transfemicides by the Mexican state. This year in particular, activists have observed an “invisibility” of these cases by prosecutors, who classify them as homicides. They denounce that the transfemicide cases that are reported are only those that gain attention because the LGBT+ community shares them on social media.
Institutional invisibility
Jey Fernández, co-founder of the Transfeminicide Observatory of the National Trans and Non-Binary Assembly in Mexico, explains that the first obstacle she foresees in 2026 is an "information blackout" generated by the justice system itself. According to the activist, prosecutors only leak information to the press that suits their interests.
According to Fernández, the identities of trans women who are murdered are rendered invisible, from the initial police reports to the forensic examination. “Their identities are being erased. We are facing a wave of disinformation generated by the State, which classifies our trans sisters as 'male' and their violent deaths as 'homicide,'” she denounces.
This year, the observatory has identified attacks against trans women entrepreneurs, owners of beauty salons, where "protection money" (a type of scam) by organized crime appears as another factor that puts at risk, especially those who do sex work on the street and those who have their own businesses.
Fernández also speaks of a pattern of “public executions” and a particular brutality. The attackers, she indicates, empty their entire magazines into the bodies of the trans women. For the activist, this action “is a powerful message of hate that goes beyond simple homicide.”.
The main forms of violence observed were inflicted through firearms, beatings, and torture. This is confirmed by research conducted by the organization Intersecta over the past five years , which indicates that 5 out of every 10 trans women murdered in Mexico are killed with a firearm.
Who has the right to claim the memory and body of a trans woman?
Yunuen Calderón, a trans activist from Michoacán, remembers the joy of her friend Daniela Martínez, her desire to support her mother, and her determination “to make something of herself.” Yunuen describes as terrifying the morning she received a message with a graphic news report about the discovery of a body in a drainage canal in Morelia. Daniela’s body showed signs of violence and was found there on April 11. Daniela was originally from Lombardía and worked as a sex worker in the capital of Michoacán.
According to Yunuen, the institutional response to Daniela's discovery was swift. However, the media and family response was marked by stigma. Some local outlets ran headlines that disrespected her identity. Violence also came from within her family; her mother refused to acknowledge her daughter's gender identity, not only to the prosecutor's office but also during the funeral.
This stance by the family initially blocked the possibility of the case being formally investigated under gender protocols. However, the case is now being investigated by the Femicide Prosecutor's Office. Yunuen explains that the family's support network is receiving a positive response from the prosecutor, who is keeping them informed of the case's progress.
The demand for the participation of the extended families of trans women who are victims of transfemicide in the justice process has been a demand of activists for ten years. The emblematic case of Paola Buenrostro highlighted this need.
“We are asking for recognition of the social family precisely so that we can act and there is no impunity. So that the cases are not forgotten, and so that our sisters have a dignified farewell, from the handover of their bodies to the ceremonies. And it is in this void that, for example, Kenya Cuevas created the mausoleum so that our sisters wouldn't end up in a mass grave,” says Jey Fernández.
On April 14, three days after Daniela's body was found, Leonardo Manuel 'N' was arrested by the Prosecutor's Office and is being held in pretrial detention. In Mexico, few cases of transfemicide are brought to trial , and those that result in a just sentence, as demanded by families and communities, are also an anomaly.
Institutional transphobia in court cases
There is no official national figure for the number of investigations specifically into transfemicide in Mexico. This is because the crime is not yet codified in most state penal codes or at the federal level. And because many cases are recorded as homicides.
In Chihuahua, the case of Mireya Rodríguez took almost six years of collective struggle to reach a verdict on April 9th. This was the first case brought to court in Mexico in which the gender identity of a murdered trans woman was taken into account.
Mayte Gardea, an activist with the organization Unión y Fuerza Mujeres Trans Chihuahuenses (Union and Strength of Trans Women of Chihuahua), accompanied Mireya in the case as both a defender and friend. She recounts that the final sentence of 34 years in prison is not celebrated as a victory. First, because the crime was classified as femicide due to the lack of legal recognition of transfemicide in the state. For Mayte, this means that “we are forced to fit into categories that fail to fully capture our reality.” Second, because the judicial process during these years was rife with institutional transphobia.
During the sentencing hearing, the judge reprimanded the activists, suggesting she felt "obligated" to issue the sentence due to social pressure. "That message is very powerful... it's like saying to the aggressor's family: I don't agree, you can keep killing them," Mayte denounces. Furthermore, the justice system completely ignored Mireya's chosen family; the organizations that had championed the cause for years were neither mentioned nor considered as indirect victims in the proceedings.
Photo: Geo González.
Mireya's killer received the minimum sentence. The lack of additional charges for aggravated robbery left a bittersweet feeling for her friends and trans activists in Chihuahua. For Mayte, true justice isn't a wad of cash for reparations, but an exemplary sentence that helps prevent future crimes and recognizes the lives of trans people.
“We have already lost so much, and we are not willing to grant them the privilege of our silence and acquiescence when the sentences are minimal and the trials are riddled with transphobia. They could have offered us 30 million dollars, and I wouldn't have accepted it. I would have demanded a just sentence, because that is what helps prevent recurrence. You can never get a life back. For me, offering a minimal sentence and a huge sum of money in reparations is like negotiating away the victims' dignity after their deaths,” says Mayte.
The cost of recording and supporting shattered dreams
Transfeminicidal violence is undermining the health of those who record, document, and accompany the paths to justice for friends and trans women who were murdered.
Jey Fernández confesses the emotional impact of this work that the State abandons: “It was a super intense, super messed up week, because it was the trans femicide in Morelia along with Zamantha's in Sinaloa… The emotional cost is brutal. You realize the vulnerability that doing this work represents, and emotionally it tears you apart, it crushes you. You say: 'Damn, we're documenting shattered dreams, lost lives.' It does have a really messed up cost.”.
Mayte, Jey, and Yunuen agree that silence is not an option they can afford. “Trans women, those of us in the north (of Mexico)... are living in absolute precarity and without human rights,” says Mayte Galea from Chihuahua.
“Since speaking out for Daniela, I’ve received threats, including direct messages saying ‘it’ll be you next,’ all kinds of messages that aren’t just for me. Every trans femicide is a message for all of us. And even though, as an activist, I’m under a protection mechanism, that’s not the case for everyone. That’s why it’s important to speak out,” concludes Yunuen Calderón.
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