LGBTIQ+ Pride Day is not only a day of celebration, but also a powerful platform for advocacy and visibility. More and more voices are being heard, not only by demonstrating in the streets with cries of protest and waving flags, but also by expressing on the pages their discontent, their opinions and their criticisms of a society that still has a lot to learn and change.
One of these voices is The Aldaa trans feminine artist and writer who has decided to get involved in the literary world to immortalize her experiences and shed light on the problems that the LGTBIQ+ community in a world that is still hostile.
The Communication Sciences graduate also admires a family member who meant a lot to her, although unfortunately she is no longer present in her life. This woman is her grandmother Ruthita, who raised her since she was in an incubator and left her valuable lessons that have marked her existence. “A lot of my writing is motivated by the teachings of my grandmother, who is the woman who raised me since I was in an incubator. Many of the aspects that I have learned about being a transvestite or about being a femininity in this world are thanks to her.” She remembers her grandmother with tenderness and gratitude, whose legacy lives in every word she writes and in every step she takes on her path in life.
Infobae Peru spoke with La Alda, who through her book raises awareness among readers about trans identity and reflects on power structures, community dreams, and the right to shine and soar in an oppressive society.
―In recent times, publishers have not invested much in authors from the LGTBIQ+ community. What can be done about this situation?
―Within the group of LGTBIQ+ people who have been published, there is a minimal percentage of lesbian women, while there is a much higher percentage of homosexual men in large publishers and independent publishers. This inequality is abysmal. The voices that have the greatest visibility continue to be those of gay men, while those of trans women, trans men, transvestites and non-binary people are practically not heard. We are the ones who have decided to self-publish. We have achieved this through the fanzine, because unfortunately in this literary market there is no genuine interest in our stories and experiences.
―Many authors publish books without having a previous career in the field of literature or letters. In your case, did you have any previous contact with the literary world or did you feel the need to write a story?
―I have a bachelor’s degree in Communication Sciences and I reached a point in my life where I got tired of talking about others. I got tired of believing that I could change the world through a piece of news or a chronicle; The truth is, I no longer believed that story, although I still have a couple of hopes. But that approach no longer identified me. I asked myself: Why do I have to talk about other people? Why can’t I start to undress myself through words? Why not start writing and self-publishing with a fanzine? After reflecting, I decided to publish “La marikona del pueblo”, a work of autofiction and stories from the self, with some poems. I did it, obviously, inspired and motivated by my boyfriend, Arturo Dávila, who is also a trans writer.
―Many authors say that writing allows them to process and release their emotions. In your experience, do you consider writing to be a form of catharsis?
―Writing is definitely a way of catharsis and of lightening the burden that one carries on the back of the different experiences lived. It is also a way of telling things to the world with truth, anger, authenticity and beauty.
―In a fragment of your book you describe Lima as “the city with no exit.” What does this expression symbolize?
―Lima is a city that traps you, imprisons you, and is hard to leave. Whether you like it or not, at some point it will make you return to it. This happened to me when I was living in a small town that I describe in “La marikona del pueblo.” In that territory, being a visible person, I lived for a little more than half a year. Although it was not mine, I feel that it became a part of me. In some way, I was forced to return to Lima, and even now it is hard for me to leave the capital, either for economic reasons or for the opportunities that I continue to seek and that may come at some point.
―The book, from the cover, seems to announce a festive story, but inside there are passages in which a character criticizes society. Was your intention to show this discontent with the world?
―I think that in my discourse and in who I am, there is a marked discontent with the world, even if I camouflage it, sweeten it or embellish it with words. I try to escape from that world through writing, reading, and sharing with my transvestite friends, dreaming together and loving another trans person, like Arturo.
―The word “revenge” appears on several pages of your book. Does Alda want to take revenge on someone?
―Through “Tra khaa pop”, they seek to avenge centuries and centuries of injustice and violence. During the internal armed conflict, there was talk of the missing and the NN, but there was no mention of the murdered transvestites and homosexuals. There are no names, traces or memories of them.
―Since the first Pride march, there has been little progress worldwide regarding the rights of the LGTBIQ+ community. In your opinion, has there been any progress in favor of the community in Peru?
―There is not much real progress. The only tangible progress would be that now, in these times, you can at least sit down and talk to a family member about who you are and how you want to be called or respected in this world. In this country, everything is still a challenge: there is no law related to gender identity, which leads to trans people not having access to basic rights. I think it is important and necessary for us to be able to access fundamental rights as trans people.
