During my usual morning exercises, my phone buzzed continuously. When I finally answered, my friends shared the shocking news: the president of Mexico, Andrés Manuel Lopez Obrador, called me “a man dressed as a woman” during his public morning brief.
FEDERAL DISTRICT, Mexico City, Mexico — Life as a trans woman has been far from easy. Despite making history as one of the first two trans women to serve in the Mexican parliament, I continue to grapple with feelings of insecurity and discrimination. Every day, my phone lights up with death threats and hateful messages solely because of who I am.
Just last month, I was taken aback when President Andrés Manuel Lopez Obrador publicly misgendered me during his morning brief. Watching the video clip repeatedly, I decided to address the issue. Thankfully, this led to a heartfelt public apology from the president.
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On the morning of January 8, 2024, my day took a sharp turn. During my usual morning exercises, my phone buzzed continuously. When I finally answered, my friends shared the shocking news: the president of Mexico, Andrés Manuel Lopez Obrador, called me “a man dressed as a woman” during his public morning brief.
Watching the video, a mix of anger and sadness washed over me. I could not believe what I was hearing. Shocked, I replayed the clip several times, trying to wrap my head around it, but the disbelief lingered, leaving me overwhelmed.
I quickly canceled my plans for the day, not feeling equipped to handle being out in public. Settling in for a meditation session, I aimed to soothe my racing heart and calm down, hoping to think more clearly. Over the years, I have developed the resilience to face challenging moments. Those words struck at the dignity of all trans women, not just me. We need to reject the normalization of such hurtful language.
While meditating, I understood that reacting impulsively serves no one well. As a public figure, my words and actions hold sway, impacting not only my journey but also the welfare of my community. Therefore, I chose to keep the channels of communication open. After all, it’s my duty to champion diversity-related efforts, and maintaining dialogue with the president on these issues is essential.
During the day, colleagues from our political party expressed regret over his remarks and informed me he was open to discussing the situation. This sparked hope for a meeting. The following day, I tuned in to the president’s live morning conference and felt relieved as he publicly apologized to me and the transgender community for his words.
As I listened to the apology, I sensed no malice or hatred in his words. Rather, it appeared to stem from a genuine lack of understanding about diversity issues. While this ignorance concerns us and adds to the challenges faced by transgender people, it differs from deliberate gender-based hostility. Addressing and correcting ignorance requires willingness and effort. I view it as my duty in parliament to help cultivate this understanding.
Since I was very young, I’ve always known myself to be a woman. However, in my youth, information about the diverse range of genders within the Mexican LGBTQIA+ community was hard to come by. Embracing my authentic identity meant navigating through discrimination and violence at every turn. There were times when tears came easily, feeling utterly overwhelmed by the abundance of hatred in the world.
In 1985, at 17 years old, I experienced a brutal encounter in a shopping center with a trans friend. Despite our femininity not yet fully expressed, we attracted attention. Amidst a crowd of police officers, we were attacked. They hit us, insulted us, and spit on us. Detained for 36 hours without bail, I felt my life slipping away, too drained even to cry. The senselessness of the ordeal left me bewildered and shattered.
As I went through life’s ups and downs on the streets, I realized that Mexicans saw us as a threat. It hit me hard that hiding had no point— I had to step up and fight for what was right. That’s why I joined forces with my sisters in the community, actively engaging in activism to uphold our rights.
A few years back, I felt a strong urge to step forward, to hold positions of influence, and to increase trans visibility in society. Maybe the hostility came from ignorance—our lives unseen, our stories unknown, feeding into prejudices. So, I jumped into politics, running for mayor of Aguascalientes. Despite facing press attacks, societal scorn, and political opposition, I didn’t let it shake me.
In 2018-2019, I led efforts to establish a “rainbow quota” for diverse representation in elective positions. This initiative aimed to secure parliamentary space for our advocacy. Despite setbacks and protests, our strategic advocacy paid off. Through affirmative action, I became the chosen representative of our community, thanks to my pioneering work for the rainbow quotas.
The day of our electoral triumph overflowed with emotion. It felt like a door to endless possibilities had swung open, filling me with hope. At the inaugural legislative session in 2021, I defied convention by wearing a transparent white dress, towering platform heels, and sequined wings—a symbolic gesture of trans women’s aspirations to break free and soar.
A year later, I found myself under attack by another deputy within the premises. While painful, it sadly wasn’t unexpected. After enduring years of such challenges, I’ve learned to anticipate hostility wherever I go. But I refused to back down; I stood my ground, filed complaints, and emerged victorious in court, setting precedents to shield other Mexican trans women from similar experiences. Yet, today, resistance, ignorance, and apathy toward our community persist, underscoring the importance of our presence in all spaces.
Even after my legislative term ends, my fight will go on. For over 30 years, I’ve been a dedicated activist, bringing my advocacy to the legislative realm, and I’ll continue to advocate wherever my path takes me.