Being Survivors: Stories of Trans Seniors

The data is stark: while life expectancy in Latin America is 79 years, that of trans people, on average, is around 35 years. Among other reasons, human rights organizations have clarified that there is a close link between transphobia, exclusion, discrimination at young age and the short life expectancy of trans people.

Thirty five years. Age in which many people travel. At a major turning point at work. Make changes of plans. Have families. Or many other possibilities. Thirty-five years and, for a trans person, that’s their maximum life expectancy. Because living as they are, in a society that hardly recognizes their rights, is dangerous. Sometimes deadly.

They do not identify with the gender identity assigned to them at birth and therefore they transition to manifesting the one who truly does. They construct their identity independently of medical treatments or surgical interventions. But they are much more than that.

More than 50 years after the coup, this year is also the anniversary of the first demonstration of transvestites held on April 22, 1973 in the Plaza de Armas . Those who took part in this event and who are still alive say they are “mutilated by the official culture”, which has been widely supported by the media. This, they argue, made the treatment of trans people very hostile, and it continues to this day.

In many cases, older trans people generate a cross-generational transfer of information so that patterns of violence against those who belong to that community do not recur.

His historical contributions, says Hillary Hilner, a researcher in the UDP’s history department, are also enormous. In particular, their stories, participation in archival projects and the donation of material to different organizations are essential to build a collective memory on the history of dissidents. “We don’t have much more official information outside of these stories, so it’s essential to be able to rely on them,” he says.

In this sense, he argues, it is important to have public memory policies specifically oriented towards trans or dissident people, as has been done in neighboring countries such as Argentina.

And knowing these people, listening to them, giving them spaces to tell their stories, is also essential. For this reason, at Paula, we spoke with two trans people who have exceeded their life expectancy.

Claudia Alejandra Ubilla Aguilera is 67 years old, self-employed and defines herself as a “fighter, warrior. I am still alive and here I am fighting, nothing more”.

Trans mother of two daughters, says they are “the only support” she has. “I have a very complicated life because I don’t have a good education, I’m not prepared, I would like to study…”, she says.

He maintains that he would like trans people “to study, not to prostitute themselves, not to do drugs, not to get in trouble with crime. I would like them to live a happy life, to be treated well everywhere and to have doors open to them, not like before because before we were very abused and beaten.

According to the IACHR, violence and discrimination against transgender children and youth begins at an early age, as they are typically expelled from their homes, schools, families and communities due to gender. expression of their diverse gender identities. As a result, many transgender people face poverty, social exclusion and high rates of homelessness, which pushes them to work in highly criminalized informal economies, such as sex work.

Claudia thinks her contribution to the country should be to pave the way for more dissidents. His life, he argues, took one direction or another, heading in that direction. “Our lives were very brutal, we were going to get shot, they were skinning us, abusing us, beating us, throwing us in the canals… Trans women were sometimes psychologically abused by family, by neighbors, by everyone, but after all, if one is a good warrior, she will always be a warrior, until the final”.

“Trans people are so smart, they have so much wisdom… That people don’t realize it and don’t recognize it, that’s different. A trans always goes well beyond the limits, he has a much more open mentality, he is born with another mentality because out of nothing he does something, out of nothing he invents something, out of nothing he is a hairdresser, out of nothing he’s an epilator, nothing is a psychologist, out of nowhere she gets involved, they get to that stage and they get to what they want to accomplish,” she says.

Looking back, Claudia says she only wishes she had the chance to do this: “to be a diva like I am now.” He doesn’t want to go back in time, yes. Because when she remembers the past, she remembers that she couldn’t be who she was. I was always hidden. Or leaving his house in camouflage, with glasses, with a hat, hair tied. “Now you can walk freely. Now there is freedom, now the doors are open, there was no study for us, there was no food, there was no family sometimes, there was Nothing “.

Moved by her story, her daughter Noah adds: “She’s a very cool, very loving mum. He always brings my sister and me a snack. She brings us some bread, brings us gifts, we talk, she teaches us a lot of things… She is a very tough and strong woman, because of everything she has resisted and survived, but at the same time she is very soft and fragile. He has a very beautiful heart.”

Salvador Alonso Yáñez (44) is a trans man who works independently, in fairs and in Persian. More than looking at his past, he wants to look at the present.

He has a 23-year-old daughter and a one-year-old granddaughter, in addition to having his mother, sister and partner. She has been using hormones for two years, but, she says, she has always dressed as a man, never as a woman. “But by dealing with my daughter, I gave her the security of this mother. With me, she found a mother and a father,” she says.

One of the things that particularly turns him on is being a trans grandparent. “It’s great, wonderful, because my granddaughter will know me as I am, like her grandfather since birth. Not like my daughter who had to see maybe another part of me as a mother, as a father on some occasions. But now it’s me, now it’s Salvador who is her grandfather and he’s going to guide her, he’s going to take care of her, he’s going to give her presents. It’s me and not another person who may have had to hide for a long time, now it’s me who will give him the protection of grandfather”, he comments.

His relationship with her is excellent. Three months ago he started babbling and the first thing he said was “Auntie”. Plus, he says, “she sees me and the first thing she does is throw her arms around me. I’m the only one he kisses, he doesn’t kiss his dad or mom, nothing, he kisses me, it’s a super close relationship.”

When he thinks of himself, Salvador only thinks of one word: Survivor. “I am a survivor of a lot of things, of a lot of prejudices that existed…Things have changed in the last 25 years, they have changed a lot. Before, everything was more repressed, before you had to hide more at work, at school there was a lot of harassment and now that we’ve had this experience that happened, we have to be able to say to the children who come, telling them that we paved the way for them, so somehow forged the path that the kids have now. We had to go through other things, a lot of things to be able to be us”.

“This path has been great, wonderful. My granddaughter is going to know me as I am, like her grandfather since birth. Not like my daughter who had to see another part of me as a mom and dad at certain occasions.

Also looking to the future, Salvador reveals his dream: to get married. Being dressed as a groom, waiting for his girlfriend to walk towards him: “I would like that. I don’t know what’s possible because my current partner doesn’t believe in marriage (laughs), but maybe in a few years…”.

Shane Cienfuegos (30), PhD student in social sciences (Universidad de Chile) and non-binary trans activist from Organizing trans diversities (OTD), has worked for five years coordinating social support for older trans people. Including Claudia and Salvador.

Her work came into force during the pandemic, when she realized that trans sex workers could not perform their work due to the curfew. “Older trans people began to appear who had never attended a municipality, who had never appeared in the media, who were in total and complete isolation from the rest of society,” he recalls.

After detecting this reality, together with his team, they began to generate bio-psycho-social intervention plans focused on elderly trans people. There was a consensus: many suffered from severe anxiety, suicidal thoughts and also self-harm. Many were reliving trauma that had not been overcome, that had not been talked about, that had not been made visible, exacerbated by the pandemic.

In addition, many had had biopolymers or industrial silicones injected into their breasts, buttocks, face and/or legs to have a more “feminine” look, and the organization accompanied them to the centers of the public network. health. Several had died of sepsis caused by clots and necrosis.

Now the work is different: they are asking for the approval of the law of recognition and reparation of trans transvestites so that they are recognized for the structural violence they suffered for being persecuted and tortured before, during and after the military dictatorship. “There was a whole legal-cultural-political system that pushed them to be expelled from the family system, to abandon the educational system, to take to the streets, to have to prostitute themselves when they were minors, to contract HIV and other types of illnesses, not learning to read and write, having to lead their whole life as a sex worker in a non-autonomous way… Making them precarious, not giving them the possibility of having retirement savings , nor access to the health system, even less a mortgage, so we are talking about total dispossession, systemic, cultural, legal, political violence”, explains Shane Cienfuegos.

There is also a pending question, he says, on the cultural level: there is practically no transvestite literature in the study centres: “We are not part of the official culture, we are part of the culture, but of a culture erased and perceived and riddled with the abnormal, like the rare, like what must be exterminated”.

Another of the edges is the formation of a trans care system, as they consider the current state system to be heteronormative. This goes hand in hand with creating islands of work for the generation of public policy to address not only the realities of trans people, but all of the realities of LGBT people who have been left on the margins of society.

“We still have a lot to do for trans survivors,” he concludes.