Mothers mobilize for rights of transgender children

Thamirys Nunes, a skilled communicologist, came to the realization that she needed to provide unwavering support for her trans daughter. Her partner and the father of the child shared this same understanding. While they ensured that their daughter would grow up surrounded by the love and support every child deserves, Nunes also recognized the numerous external threats that could impede Agatha's ability to fully embrace her identity at just eight years old.

"In my state of Paraná in 2019, there were unfortunate restrictions in place that prevented trans children from having their social names reflected on their ID cards, a privilege that was only granted to adults. This posed a significant challenge when I embarked on a car trip to São Paulo and subsequently had to return by bus. Upon boarding the bus, the driver disputed the validity of the document I presented, asserting that it did not match the appearance of the child accompanying me. Despite my explanation that she is a transgender girl, he persisted in claiming that the document identified a boy and that I was with a girl. Consequently, we endured an arduous hour and a half of heated arguments and encountered numerous problems and difficulties at the bus station, exacerbating the situation to the extent of baseless accusations of kidnapping," recounts Thamirys Nunes.

She realized that the child and adolescent protection network, along with LGBTQIAP+ rights defense entities, lacked the necessary preparedness to support mothers of trans children in navigating various day-to-day challenges, including school enrollment, boarding, and travel. She experienced firsthand the repercussions of this unpreparedness when she was reported to the guardianship council by a basic healthcare unit, falsely accusing her of influencing her daughter's gender identity. Subsequently, five schools denied her daughter's enrollment, citing their refusal to accept trans children. When attempting to report these incidents to the police, Thamirys Nunes was disheartened to hear the police chief dismiss it as a mere insult, arguing that it did not qualify as transphobia since the daughter was not transgender.

In 2020, she authored the book "My Trans Child?" to address the misconceptions surrounding her experience. Reflecting on this, she expressed, "Many people approached me, offering unsolicited advice like, 'Have you tried this? Have you tried that?' I wanted to make it clear that I had exhausted every possibility and that my child's identity as transgender was not a passing phase, a mere drawing, or influenced by external factors."

My Trans Child

The publication of the book sparked a wave of support from other parents, leading to the formation of a community centered around Thamirys Nunes' writings. Over time, this community evolved into a platform for political mobilization. In the following year, Nunes, along with a group of 580 families, established a non-governmental organization (NGO) called "My Trans Child."

Listening and research

Thamirys Nunes, a white, heterosexual, cisgender, middle-class woman, emphasizes the importance of active listening and conducting thorough research as she prepared herself for activism. Prior to her daughter's arrival, her family had led an entirely cis-hetero lifestyle, with limited exposure to the LGBTQ+ community. In fact, her daughter was the first transgender individual she encountered. Consequently, Thamirys embarked on a personal journey of discovery, immersing herself in conversations with other transgender individuals and delving deep into the subject matter. Through attentive listening and engagement, she developed a strong conviction that her child was indeed transgender.

Thamirys went to a specialist and asked him if her daughter was a trans child. The doctor answered he was not the one who was going to say that, the daughter was the one who was going to say it. “I'm just going to teach you how to listen to her,” the doctor told Thamirys. 

“I know that my daughter is a trans child because I listen to her, I observe my daughter and I am open to what she brings me. When a child comes to you, at the age of 3 years and 11 months, and says 'Mommy, can I die today so that a girl can be born tomorrow? It's sad that God didn't make me a girl. Life would be so much cooler if I were a girl.' I had a sad, sullen, silent boy. And now I have a lively, happy, confident little girl," she said.

Families from all over the country

Thamirys heads the NGO, connecting with families across Brazil comprising children and teenagers aged 4 to 18. This diverse network encompasses individuals from various races, religions, and disabilities.

"Several mothers come to us with many doubts and insecurities, in a process that still involves a lot of pain. Most of them are afraid of letting the transition happen and their children suffer violence. Many parents don't allow the transition out of fear, thinking that they will keep their children safe. I don't condemn them and I understand them, but we have to strengthen these parents so that they understand that violence should be kept at bay and that denying a child's identity is a form of violence itself."

Among the mothers who seek the NGO, there are rare cases that have gone to the extreme of having thrown their trans children out of their homes, a life story often reported in the trans community. On the other hand, it is more common for trans youth to seek guidance on how to disclose their transgender identity to their mothers. Thamirys often advises them to initiate conversations by introducing the topic of transgender experiences through movies, series, and books before openly coming out. 

Lack of specific norms

Apart from offering shelter to families, the NGO guides them through bureaucratic matters and advocates for the establishment of public policies benefiting transgender children, which Thamirys argues are currently lacking. Despite Brazil having well-recognized frameworks such as the Statute of the Child and Adolescent, a comprehensive network of guardianship councils, and a universal health system, Thamirys insists on the need for explicit policies catering to the needs of trans children. She laments the community's reliance on the goodwill of public officials.

Mothers for Diversity

The trajectory of Thamirys and that of the NGO My Trans Child is similar to that of Mothers for Diversity, a group formed mainly by women who are mothers of people of the LGBTQIA+ acronym and who demand the rights of their children. This is the case of early childhood education teacher Maria Cecilia Castro, mother of 13-year-old Caio, who has always been bothered by female clothes and the name he was baptized with. 

"He always drew himself and did his self-portraits as a boy, and I talked to him to understand, and he always said, since he was very young, that he would have liked to be a boy, that he likes boys' things. I made a movement of showing great women, strong women, like singer Rita Lee herself, Frida Kahlo, women of struggle, vanguard, freedom, and he said that he was not a strong warrior woman, that he was a boy," recalls the teacher, who lives in Niterói, Rio de Janeiro. "When he entered the school, he didn't want to use his name of record. And he had a very clever strategy of asking his friends to call him by his last name. And they called him Pereira. It amazed me how he organized himself to feel like a trans boy. And, among the boys, there was no prejudice. His colleagues always welcomed him in a very affectionate way."

During the pandemic, Caio experienced significant distress due to isolation, leading to moments of aggressiveness. In this challenging period, he shared with his mother a letter he had written to his future self as part of a school exercise involving a time capsule.
As Caio opens the letter, his use of the name "Caio" astounds his mother, leaving a profound impact. The letter, filled with beauty and emotion, triggers memories of João Nery, the first trans man to undergo surgery, as recounted in his book "A Lonely Journey." Reflecting on João's hardships, the mother finds herself deeply moved. She lovingly assures Caio, "Son, I want you to know that your journey will not be solitary. You will never be alone."

Collective struggle

In 2020, Maria Cecília Castro sought guidance from Mothers for Diversity regarding gender transition, healthcare, and documentation concerns. Through the NGO, she became part of a collective of approximately 2,000 mothers, including some fathers. Within this community, they are organized into groups based on their children's gender identities, sexual orientations, and professional expertise, fostering mutual support and collaboration. These groups enable members to assist one another in areas such as work and shelter, utilizing their respective specialized skills.

The group's collective efforts extend to participating in demonstrations, public hearings, and advocacy movements aimed at safeguarding the rights of their children. Through these actions, the mothers find strength in combating the prevalent discourse of blame. Maria Cecília describes the common criticisms they face, such as accusations of improper upbringing or being part of a broken family.

Castro acknowledges that her unwavering efforts have created a protective and nurturing environment for her son within their home. However, her involvement in activism has consistently reminded her that the world remains an unsafe place for transgender individuals. She reveals that fear becomes an ever-present reality for any mother, and this fear intensifies when raising a trans child. “Every day I fear for my son's physical integrity,” she stated. 

Maternal loneliness

It was through the active participation of Mothers for Diversity in the LGBTQIA+ Parade in São Paulo that lawyer Regiani Abreu crossed paths with the group. Regiani, the mother of 14-year-old trans boy Luca, shares that during the transition period, she grappled with overwhelming loneliness. She found herself in a situation where she felt uncertain and lost, despite her previous experience as a mother. 

Through active engagement in discussions, Regiani realized that her background as a lawyer could be a valuable asset to numerous other mothers. She actively contributed to the group by assisting in the creation of essential resources, such as a model for notifying schools about the social name change, enabling other mothers to assert their children's identity and demand the respect they deserve. 

In the very same situation that Regiani once found herself in, she now engages in support groups where other lonely, scared, and insecure mothers seek solace and guidance. Through the nurturing and empowering environment provided by these groups, a collective spirit emerges, transforming these women into activists who are dedicated to supporting other families and advancing the cause. 

"These mothers often arrive carrying deep emotional wounds. They may be facing challenges in their relationships, including conflicts with partners who struggle to accept their child's identity. Witnessing their child's pain, they realize that the current situation is unsustainable. When they find solace in Mothers for Diversity, they have already recognized the irreversibility of their child's experience and the immense suffering they endure," she shares with regret. Abreu laments that some mothers choose to reject their children instead of embracing the path of understanding and love.