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“What can they do to us? Take our loot? “Again?” Karina Pankievich asked her friends who had gathered in a guesthouse in the Sur district of Montevideo, one of the few that rented rooms to transvestites in Uruguay in 1993. The blows of the Uruguayan dictatorship were still being felt. (1973-1985). ), who was cruel to them and anyone who displayed a dissident appearance, voice or ideas. In democracy, the Travas, as they were disparagingly called, continued to be persecuted and repressed by the police. Her work options were limited to sex work and getting a guaranteed rent was a pipe dream. They had survived the violence, still whole, but very tired. “We have to do something,” emphasized Pankiyevich, then 30 years old.
Karina Pankievich (center) marches with her companions. Natalia Rovira
Her friends supported her, they collected some money, they bought paint and a few colorful balloons. “Fear makes you sick. “Solidarity protects,” they wrote on a banner. The adrenaline, Pankievich admits to América Futura, overcame the fear that had haunted her since she was 13, when her family kicked her out of the house. They met on June 28, 1993 at the obelisk in Montevideo, on a cold and damp night, in the real Montevideo. From there they marched thirteen blocks along the main street, 18 de Julio, to the University of the Republic. About 30 people walked with their arms crossed and faces uncovered, many others wearing masks or hiding their faces with hats and scarves for fear of being identified. “We are here not so much for ourselves, but for the new generations,” Pankiyevich said in front of the few cameras present at this first “Homosexual Pride March,” which was attended by about 100 people.
An early activist, Pankievich has participated in almost all marches celebrating diversity and defending the rights of the LGBT+ community in Uruguay since 1993. Yesterday was no exception and the 30th edition took place, this time in spring, with more company than on this first occasion. Much more: According to the organizers, 150,000 people packed their things and walked along the Avenida del Libertador in Montevideo to the symbolic 1° de Mayo square.
Participants of the march this afternoon in Montevideo. Natalia Rovira
“Stop impunity and the plunder of rights,” was the slogan that marked the day, alluding to the sacrifices of the LGBT community during the dictatorship as well as the obstacles to implementing the achievements achieved. Between speeches and proclamations, thousands of people of all ages marched and danced, draped in rainbow flags. “Joy,” “freedom,” “respect,” and “love” were the words that resonated most in the streets of Montevideo.
March participant: Natalia Rovira
Among the crowd walked Diego Sempol, 51 years old, teacher and researcher, student of these marches. “The goal was always to occupy public space to create visibility,” says Sempol. Look back and remember that in Uruguay at the beginning of the 20th century the political project of creating a homogeneous national identity was very successful, blocking the possibility of social diversity. “The march denies this homogenization project,” he adds. In the 90s people talked about “pride”, but gradually this category was replaced by “diversity”. “Because discrimination problems are intersectional,” he emphasizes. The March for Diversity, Sempol continued, calls on all social heterogeneity to confront various forms of discrimination, be it based on sexual orientation, gender, ethnic origin, social class…
Hundreds of people march through the streets of Montevideo. Natalia Rovira
Starting in the 21st century, the movement conquered rights related to the Uruguayan LGBT community: anti-discrimination laws were passed in 2003 and 2004; In 2007, a law was passed in favor of cohabiting relationships; In 2009, a new regulation made it possible to change the name and registered gender; The Equal Marriage Act was passed in 2013 and the comprehensive trans law was passed in 2018. “There is a part of Uruguayan society that has significantly changed its attitude towards this issue. This is reflected in the call for marches and in the integration of sexual dissidence in many social groups,” says Sempol. That doesn’t mean, he emphasizes, that hate or anti-rights groups have disappeared. On the contrary, he claims that society is experiencing a strong activation of this trend. “In Uruguay and worldwide,” he adds.
This is the direction of the comments made by 24-year-old Sol Casada, who was present this Friday to celebrate diversity but also to demand that acquired rights be effectively implemented. In her case, she says, she completed the sex change with the support of her family, received good medical care and will complete her psychology degree this year. However, he assures that this is an exception. In Uruguay, the transgender population does not have adequate healthcare, nor is the 1% labor quota set by law. Like Sempol, the young woman warns of the “regional wave of hate or anti-right speech,” which has practical consequences. They point out that weeks ago a trans woman was attacked in Piriápolis (east of the country) and in March of this year another was murdered in Rivera (north). “Hate attacks are occurring in different parts of Uruguay [contra la población LGBT]. We have to fight them and these speeches,” says Casada.
Sol Casada before the start of the march. Natalia Rovira
At this march, many also remembered the ten-year validity of the Equal Marriage Law and the impact it had in Uruguay. “After the law was passed, it seemed important to us that it have an immediate effect,” recalls Sergio Miranda, who introduced this rule by marrying his partner Rodrigo Borda in 2013. Miranda maintains that the Uruguayan legal framework remains in force and that the international LGBT community views the country positively. “In fact, there was a heavy immigration of the Russian and Brazilian LGBT populations during this period [Jair] Bolsonaro and from Caribbean countries such as Cuba, Venezuela and the Dominican Republic,” says Miranda, who is in charge of the diversity secretariat of the municipality of Montevideo.
Karina Pankievich at the first march in 1993.
Amid a festive and crowded atmosphere, Uruguay’s LGBT+ community has claimed the political nature – not partisan politics, they make clear – of the March for Local Diversity. In this sense, they defend that the movement stays away from the sponsorship of commercial brands and avoids becoming a “grand commercialized pilgrimage”. 30 years after she took to the streets of Montevideo, President of the Trans Association of Uruguay, Karina Pankievich, marched in the front row, grateful for the 61 years that life has given her and for the path she has taken is. “I have been active for 34 years and have been fighting for social, non-partisan politics. Political parties are abandoned and civil society remains. We must learn to work together,” concludes Pankievich, who was named an Illustrious Citizen of Montevideo in 2019 for her defense of human rights.
Karina Pankievich with her group before the start of the march. Natalia Rovira