Armed groups threaten “social cleansing” of trans people in Colombia: one woman details her struggle to survive
In recent years, trans people have been pressurized as four different armed groups compete for control of the area. All four groups share a desire to exterminate trans people in Colombia. Even the slightest excuse would suffice for them to justify their actions. Consequently, life becomes impossible for trans people here.
- 2 months ago
September 16, 2024
As a trans woman in Colombia, Danna confronts constant danger and discrimination, struggling to live in a society that refuses to accept her. | Photo courtesy of Danna Valentina Cuellar Fajardo
CAQUETÁ, Colombia — Living as a trans woman in the city of Caquetá severely drains me. At 28 years old, I fight daily for the same respect and treatment as everyone else. However, relentless threats, violence, and persecution utterly exhaust me. Each battle strips away more of my will to live, increasing this sense of hopelessness with every passing day. Despair overwhelms me, consuming my every thought, and I struggle to find any way out of the darkness.
[Paramilitary groups murdered more than 40 trans women in Colombia last year, with heightened threats calling for “social cleansing” in 2024. Activists say the government is doing little to protect them.]
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Facing lifelong discrimination, trans woman establishes organization for trans rights
Growing up in Caquetá, I struggled to find a place where I could be myself. As a trans woman, I faced discrimination and violence. Years ago, I spent four years in a men’s prison. Facing the constant threat of others using my body at will, I chose the lesser evil – entering a relationship with a local leader who took control of my body without my consent. I thought, “At least it is only him.”
Situations like this reveal a truth: winning is never an option for me. Rather, I must decide which way I want to lose. When I finally returned home to Caquetá three years ago, I hoped to find peace. At first, I thought I achieved it, but that illusion quickly vanished. One night, as I rode my motorcycle through the streets, two men on motorbikes approached me in a way that felt uneasy.
Instinctively, I sped up, and they followed. I raced through the city in a high-speed chase. Although their motivation remained unclear, I did not want to ask. Instead, I took sharp turns, pushing myself to evade them, my heart pounding with adrenaline. Long ago, I lost the sensation of fear, reacting purely on instinct. After what felt like an eternity of desperate maneuvers, I finally escaped.
The chase left a lasting impression on me. It revealed an unsettling fact: someone is always waiting to harm me. As 2023 came to an end, I no longer felt positive about my life. Not only had I experienced persecution; I witnessed other trans women struggle too.
At the LGBTI National Convention, it became even more clear. I noticed the lack of adequate support for us. It felt like no one truly cared about our well-being. Rather, I sensed mockery and disregard for my identity. Determined to create a safe space, I founded Libe Trans Foundation to empower trans people to advocate for themselves.
Societal discrimination drives trans woman into isolation
From the beginning, Libe Trans allowed trans people to reflect on and tackle issues affecting us. Witnessing the organization’s growth makes me proud. Yet, I feel frustrated due to the lack of resources to expand our services. I funded the venture solely myself, but discrimination in the workplace has kept me from securing a job for six months now. Meanwhile, the discrimination and threats persist in Caquetá and around Colombia.
Historically, illegally armed groups refused to accept genders beyond the binary categories of men and women in Colombian territories. In recent years, trans people have been pressurized as four different armed groups compete for control of the area. All four groups share a desire to exterminate trans people in Colombia. Even the slightest excuse would suffice for them to justify their actions. Consequently, life becomes impossible for trans people here.
Throughout the day, I force myself to cook to curb my hunger, without any pleasure. Uploading videos to social media, like TikTok, provides me with a brief distraction. Nevertheless, that brief enjoyment quickly fades, and I fall back into sadness. Amidst the sorrow, I close the windows and doors to shield myself from the outside world.
Out on the streets, people stare and mock me, shouting obscenities and insults. To prevent the situation from escalating, I speed up my pace. In a more private atmosphere, if I sense someone might listen, I try to talk softly and share my perspective. Yet, it often feels like talking to a wall. No matter what I say, it fails to get through. For this reason, I go through months-long periods of barely leaving my house.
Amid moments of joy in acting, relentless violence continues to shatter woman’s heart
The last time I worked a job was in March, conducting surveys. Since then, work has eluded me. I attend interviews, but recruiters show their disgust as soon as I walk in. To avoid problems that might expose me, I stay indoors constantly. Spending my days alone, I mostly sleep. The only freedom I experience comes in my dreams.
Earlier this year, I experienced one of the best moments of my life. It felt like discovering a beautiful oasis. A production company staged a play that portrayed people with diverse identities. Escaping my reality, I took part in it. The play highlighted our struggles, but it also took me to a fantasy world where problems ceased to hurt, and violence no longer caused pain. I found myself in a comforting bubble, though it ended too soon.
During our theater tour in a nearby town, violence confronted me. One night after the show, a group of men surrounded me. I froze, unable to move or react. As they closed in, I felt their hands all over me. The experience shocked me deeply as I recognized I was more accustomed to that discomfort than to the joy I experienced from acting.
Each week, I learn about someone murdering another trans woman. This year alone, more than 20 cases emerged. Each name represents a lost life and drives another dagger into my heart, a heart that has no more room for pain. Relentlessly, I witness cases of missing trans people following these tragedies.
Surviving a near-fatal overdose: trans woman continues to fight for life
Recently, one Saturday morning, I reached my breaking point and consumed a cocktail of drugs, hoping it would be my final act. I wanted to end everything quickly; to die, close my eyes, and cease to exist. The relentless exhaustion from fighting an unwinnable battle left me hopeless. I felt fed up with swimming against the current. Endlessly, I struggle to keep myself afloat. That harrowing night remains hazy to this day.
After taking the drugs, I fell asleep, feeling a sense of relief. I felt certain I would not wake up again. Then, the shrill sound of my cell phone pierced through the quiet. My therapist called for our morning appointment. I answered, still groggy, and said something I cannot recall. Shortly after, a trans friend came to see me. I call them “my children” because we form a family built on love, not blood. She stayed with me, fed me, and tried to comfort and encourage me, but I was too disoriented to pay much attention.
When I fully woke up and realized I was still breathing, I cried, “I am still here; let’s try to keep living.” I said the words, but did not feel 100 percent convinced. Every day, I work to persuade myself that better days lay ahead and I can overcome this. However, when I confront the reality, I just want to say, “Fuck it” and give up. The struggle to survive and exist weighs heavily on me.
As a trans woman, I encounter barriers everywhere. In the places where I am allowed to go, I carefully manage whom I talk to and what I do. Hour by hour, I lose my drive. The motivation to raise my voice and to engage with the world diminishes. When people invite me out, I avoid going. I have endured enough pain and feel unwilling to face more. These days, I feel tired, and it seems like nothing is left for me. My life has become confined to my house, and it feels like that is all a trans woman can do here.
