Two things immediately come to Alejandra Aranda’s mind when asked about her hometown of Iguala, Mexico, in the north-central state of Guerrero. The first is its scenic nature; how El Tehuehue hill serves as a beautiful backdrop to this city, home to more than 100,000 people. The second is the relentless bullying she experienced there, much of it from those closest to her.
Aranda’s journey in the 90s mirrors what many LGBTQ migrants experience today. Queer and trans migrants are still forced to leave home for reasons similar to other migrants, but also because of the violence they face as a result of their queer identities. While exact numbers are unavailable due to fears of persecution at home, an estimated 15,000 to 50,000 undocumented transgender immigrants live in the U.S. according to the National Center for Transgender Equality. Nearly 70 countries around the world still criminalize LGBTQ people, with punishments as severe as the death penalty, according to the Human Rights Campaign.
Aranda’s time in immigration detention as a trans woman underscores that idea. Shortly after graduating high school, she tried to get a student visa through the U.S. embassy in Mexico, but was denied when she couldn’t provide all of the necessary paperwork. She and her sister Columba then hired a coyote who helped get them into the U.S. They were detained and deported three times before successfully making it across through Tijuana.
In the U.S., a person can seek asylum in several ways. One of the more common is through a port of entry. This is where an immigrant presents themselves at an official station, then undergoes an interview meant to establish whether they have “credible fear” of harm in their home countries. After that they are usually released and allowed to live in the U.S. until their time in front of an immigration judge—though this process has been recently upended by the Trump administration’s “Remain in Mexico” policy.
“Depending on your country of origin, you may have corrupt judges, corrupt police, [and] just general violence, discrimination, and harassment,” she says. “You may not necessarily want to speak to this intimidating, uniformed customs and border patrol agent and disclose ‘by the way, this is what my identity is.'”
“With all the discrimination and everything I’ve lived through,” she says, “I’m a super person now.” v
